Harry Potter and The Sanguine Brother's Bond
by Wait Till Gone and Back Again
Summary: Dumbledore is not dead, Draco has betrayed Lord Voldemort, and Harry has been asked to teach Malfoy a certain means of defending himself. Harry and Draco explore a new side to their relationship, redefining their happiest memories along the way.
1. The Sweet Smell of Cinnamon

**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

Harry lay awake at number four, Privet drive, staring at the ceiling and shifting uncomfortably every five minutes due to the large depression made by Dudley in the years he had used the bed. He chuckled to himself, no matter how much weight Dudley lost over break due to the constant ministrations of Aunt Petunia, he always seemed to come back from boarding school fatter than before. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that his cousin was supplementing his own meal plan with that of other, less hulking individuals. The Dursley's had welcomed him back, if you could call it that, with their usual stoic tolerance. Typical of his summer vacations, Harry spent most of his time holed away in his room brooding over the absence of his friends and his desire to return to Hogwarts. It had been two weeks since the end of term and Harry was still processing the events of a particular night that he knew would be ingrained in his mind forever. He could still see himself peering up through the cracks in the floorboards as Malfoy made his feeble attempt to assassinate Dumbledore. Still fresh in Harry's mind was his vindication that he had been right to suspect Malfoy, and his terror as Snape stepped in to finish what Malfoy could not. A tear slid down Harry's cheek as he felt once again the crippling loss, watching Dumbledore fly from the tower in a flash of green. In the aftermath Malfoy had slid surreptitiously down to Harry's level where they both stood locked in fear as Snape and the other death eaters fled from the tower, apparently under the impression that Malfoy had ducked out before them.

Malfoy had barely time to utter three words before Harry had hexed his face beyond recognition.

"he's not dead"

But Harry did not hear him; As Malfoy crumpled onto the floor Harry moved to stand over him, raising his wand and preparing to finish it. Never before had Harry felt such rage, not even the night that he had chased Bellatrix through the ministry. He had felt a great carnal beast rise within him, clouding his eyes with red and sparking through his body to the very tip of his wand. The windows of the clock tower buckled and burst under the pressure of Harry's rage. Taut, convulsing air had wrapped itself thickly about them, whipping their robes and hair. It was then, when Harry had been poised to utter the curse that would end Malfoy's putrid existence, that he saw it; among the many puss filled boils and growths that concealed his face, tears were streaming from Malfoy's watery eyes. They tore through Harry with an innocence and fear that he had not expected. It was as if a great wave had suddenly crested and Harry felt the anger rush out of him bodily. A great crack and a flash of light later and Harry was on his back, looking into the living eyes of Albus Percival Wolfrick Brian Dumbledore. Harry's mind had exploded with such relief that he originally thought that the small sparks of light that clouded his vision were the result of his happiness. But the latest extreme of emotion had proved to be too much for him; he had collapsed against the cold stone floor of the tower.

He had awoken as the soft afternoon light had begun to filter through the drapes in the hospital wing. He had found himself alone with Dumbledore who gently began to tell Harry the true story of what had happened that night. Draco it seemed, had come to Dumbledore not long ago confessing to everything. He told Dumbledore of the task set upon him by Lord Voldemort, and Snape's unbreakable vow. What happened then, on that fateful night, was only a farce. Draco had only feigned an attempt to murder Dumbledore, forcing Snape to step in and finish the job. What Snape did not know was that he had struck Dumbledore in the hand that had long since died, having been killed as Dumbledore destroyed Gaunt's ring. This way, Harry was told, Snape could believe he had fulfilled his vow, and would therefore be spared death. Harry had then asked what Snape would be forced to do when he found out Dumbledore had survived.

"Insightful as always Harry." Dumbledore had replied, "It is my hope that upon hearing of Draco's failure, Voldemort will revoke the task set upon him, in which case the unbreakable vow will be nullified."

Harry smiled at into his pillow when he thought of Dumbledore, the only other man Harry knew who could say that name without flinching. The rest of the term has passed by in a flash, and somehow Harry felt he had passed him exams with flying colors. He attributed this success to two things, his unbridled joy at Dumbledore's survival, and Hermione's constant study sessions. He had even managed to pass potions despite not having the help of the Half Blood Prince. He cringed at the thought that this once glorified figure had turned out to be none other than that greasy wrinkle of a man, Severus Snape. Though Dumbledore still seemed to trust Snape, Harry remained, as ever, wary of his former potions master.

Harry could hear his behemoth of a cousin wanking in the next room over and rolled over in disgust. Facing the wall now, Harry felt cold and exposed, his bare back against the darkness of the room. For a brief moment he thought of what it might be like to have someone laying next to him, filling the darkness behind him and murmuring soft as dawn into his ear. Sighing, Harry rolled over, understanding, for the first time the emptiness he felt pulling tight in his chest. Harry's friends loved him, he knew that. They had barely left his side as he lay in the hospital wing, but there was no one to fuss over him the way Hermione had when Ron lay ill from the poisoning. This reminded Harry of something else that had been troubling him; Harry had lain in the hospital bed with Hermione fluttering about him spouting nonstop study questions so loudly that neither she nor Ron had noticed Malfoy step quietly into the room. But Harry had, and he feigned sleep as Malfoy approached. Ron soon noticed the slender blond, and had risen to his feet preparing to pound Malfoy into floor when Hermione had cast impedimenta without so much has opening her mouth. Ron's mouth was unaffected by the hex and he had funneled his rage into his voice instead,

"The dark lord given you another task you filthy git? I swear, one step nearer and I'll tear you limb from limb."

Harry was had been so prepared for Malfoy's drawling tone, but instead he heard the sudden intake of breath and slow release, followed by,

"when potter wakes… tell him- tell him I'm-" the last word was spoken with intense difficulty, "sorry…"

Harry had been sure that Draco heard his gasp of astonishment, but he turned on his heals and left the hospital wing with haste. But before he had reached the door, Harry had risen from bed and roared after him,

"Where do you get off? You filthy, fucking, waste of existence!" A small part of the rage that he had felt was returning, but it fell away just as hastily he he saw Draco's shoulders slump and he heard a muffled huff as Draco slunk out of the doorway. It had been Harry's longstanding dream to make Malfoy cry, but victory was not as sweet as he'd hoped. His guilt was made worse as remembered seeing Malfoy at breakfast the next day, staring silently at his toast. He looked so alone, so desolate, perhaps even more so than Harry, who at least had friends with whom he could discuss his feelings and his fears. Malfoy, Harry thought, had not a friend in the world who understood what he was going through. Harry squirmed uncomfortably in bed, not only because of the great cavity he had been laying in once again, but because of the unusual pity he felt towards one of his greatest enemies.

"no," Harry thought "Malfoy was no longer his enemy, not really.."

He thought again of those steely eyes, those watery eyes that had been the only thing that kept him from becoming a murderer. Wincing, Harry promised himself that he would apologize to Draco no matter how hard against the grain it went. A soft tap on the window alerted Harry to Hedwig's presence outside the window. Practically leaping from the bed Harry raced to get the letter that was sure to be from Dumbledore. He had sent Harry a letter earlier that day saying that he would arrive at precisely midnight to retrieve him. Harry had wasted no time packing his things and had been pacing around his room since that afternoon. He was eagerly anticipating being whisked off to the burrow, ready to while away the rest of the summer in the company of his best friend. It is not hard to imagine then, Harry's disappointment when not only did midnight slip by, but one _and _two o' clock. It was then that Harry had sent Hedwig to find Dumbledore, however much he now regretted it, seeing now that it was an open display of distrust. Harry corrected himself, he was worried, not mistrustful, worried about the man who had become something of a father to Harry. And he had every right to be, given what had happened. Hastily, he began to unroll the letter and was relieved when he read the familliar slanted script.

"Dear mister potter,

Touched as I am by your worry, fear not, we will be arriving shortly."

"we?" breathed Harry, as he looked out over the misty lawn. But he barely had time to puzzle over whom Dumbledore might be bringing with him, when Harry heard a soft crack outside and the streetlights began to vanish.

Folding the letter into his robes, Harry glanced fervently around the small dark room to see if he had missed anything. Coaxing Hedwig a little less gently than she would have liked she nipped him as he shut the bars of her cage. She then began hooting noisily as he hoisted her cage over to his trunk. Harry stumbled in the darkness, knocking his trunk into the wall with a loud thump. Abruptly Harry heard his cousin cease his grunting and sit up in bed, then almost as immediately, the door bell rang. Harry cursed loudly, he had hoped to answer the door and be gone without a word to the Dursleys. Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry was opening the door before his uncle had even managed to reach the stairs. Harry could hear him grumbling and cursing as he rounded the corner. The cool misty air prickled his skin as Harry opened the door to see Dumbledore beaming at him from across the threshold. Standing shorter and somewhat behind Dumbledore stood a hooded figure, whose face Harry could not make out.

"Er, welcome sir" mumbled Harry sheepishly.

"Good evening Harry, or, I should say morning I suppose." said Dumbldore cheerfully as he passed Harry into the house. The hooded figure seemed to shuffle his feet nervously, but then hastily followed after Dumbledore, looking away as they passed Harry.

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" raged uncle vernon, his trademark vein erupting from his forehead, spittle flying madly from his fat purple lips. He had come halfway down the stairs, but it seemed, he would go no further as he was holding his arms up against his chest, as if in fear of being bitten. No doubt the other cloaked wizard had something to do with this. For no matter how powerful Dumbledore always seemed, his high heels and flamboyant robes were startling in a different way, one that never seemed to intimidate Uncle Vernon.

Dumbledore sighed, "I assume then, that Harry has once again refrained from informing you that I would be coming to fetch him this morning."

Harry felt his cheeks flush and heard the stranger give a sort of huffy snicker. With a jolt Harry knew he recognized this snicker, but could not place it. Confused, he followed Dumbldore's motions into the living room without noticing.

"I will not stand for having some crack pot wizards barging into my house in the wee hours of the morning! I've had enough!" spat Uncle Vernon when he finally managed to gather up enough courage to waddle into the living room.

Dumbledore, who had taken up a seat in Uncle Vernon's favorite chair, looked scornfully at him over the top of his half moon spectacles. Uncle Vernon was left groping stupidly at the air, as if he was trying to work his way up to saying something else. Finally, he thought the better of it a slumped noisily onto the sofa.

"Vernon dear, what's all the noise" whined Aunt Petunia as she stepped shyly into the room. Seeing Dumbledore she immediately sucked in her lips and rushed to sofa to sit next to Uncle Vernon. Her eyes bulged when she saw the hooded figure who was standing in the corner behind Dumbledore. He seemed to be peering around him, intrigued by the muggle dwelling.

"I only ask a moment of your… hospitality" said Dumbledore after a pause, "but I am waiting on another of my associates, and it is dangerous to remain outside in these dark times, you understand."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave weak nods of their heads, not even looking up as Dudley entered the room. Probably for the best thought Harry as he saw his cousin. He waddled in much like his father, but it seemed he was encumbered by something a little more. The hooded figure made a sound that was somewhere between a 'pah' and a guffaw upon seeing Harry's rotund cousin, who had obviously not finished touching himself and was sporting a prominent erection through his pajamas. Harry was surprised that it was big enough to poke out beyond his fat, but this thought vanished from his mind when he realized who was under that cloak.

Who else could make such haughty noises around complete strangers, muggles or not. "Malfoy " muttered Harry.

Dumbledore smiled as Dudley hastily squeezed onto the couch next to his mother. "I believe," said Dumbledore slyly "that had I taken you up on your bet, you would now owe me a hefty sum of galleons. You see, I told you the hood would make no difference in the end."

Malfoy have another haughty huff as he lowered his hood. Aunt Petunia gasped, reaching her hand to her face in shock. Malfoy was obviously not the ugly haggard warlock she had been expecting to be hidden under the hood.

"Another one of your stupid friends, eh, Potter?" snarled Uncle Vernon. Harry and Malfoy, who had briefly locked eyes, quickly looked away. Dumbledore smiled as he looked between them and said, "something to that effect, I suppose." He chuckled, and upon hearing a soft pop outside he said, "that's our cue boys."

He rose in a swift flurry of dark turquoise, then paused and summoned Harry's trunk and Hedwig with the flick of his wand. As always the Dursleys flinched instinctively at the sight of the slender piece of wood. Malfoy laughed openly now, and Harry, to his surprise, found himself smiling at Draco before they locked eyes again and Harry quickly looked away in embarrassment.

After and awkward game of who-follows-Dumbledore-first, in which there was much awkward shuffling and mumbles, Harry strode after Dumbledore with an unnatural strut in the way the the winner of this type of game often does. Rather like stepping too hard on the gas pedal after waffling at a stop sign. Dumbledore paused at the threshold of the door and looked out onto the street, lighting his wand and peering into the darkness. Seeming to decide it was safe, he stepped out into the misty blackness.

"watcha Harry!"

Out of the inky blackness Harry could just make out the bright pink tuft of hair that was Nymphodora Tonks. Harry was glad to see that she was her usual perky self, far from the state she had assumed after Sirius' death.

"Hi Tonks! Didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight." replied Harry as she moved in to hug him. She stepped back and let her mouth drop as she took in the sight of her cousin.

"I call Harry then, sir" she said warily.

Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle as Hedwig and the trunk vanished with a flick of his wand and a soft poof. He held his arm out for Draco, who took it with a sort of pained expression on his face, and with a loud crack and twist they were gone. Harry reached out his arm towards Tonks and prepared himself for the side-along apparition. He was ready for the now familiar sensation of being forced in upon himself, but was none the less happy when his feet once again touched the ground. But instead of the moist grass he was expecting, Harry felt pavement. Obviously Tonks had made a mistake, the closest pavement to The Burrow was about a mille away in the village. He hoped they weren't walking all that way, but when he opened his eyes he was met with an even more depressing reality. Number Twelve Grimmauld place leered out of the darkness at him as it expanded out of the muggle dwellings on either side. Even as he hated the damn place, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the magic of it. After seven years of living within it, the magical world still left him feeling sublime. He gave a jump when Dumbledore called his name, only now realizing that everyone else had already filed inside. As Harry crossed the threshold he was met with the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls carried by the warm air that rushed past his face. He gaped open mouthed at the changes that had been made since his last trip to the old house.

"I hope you don't mind Harry" said Dumbledore as he gestured about the now gleaming entry way, "I took it upon myself to - spruce it up a bit, yes"

"a bit?" mumbled Harry in astonishment as he looked around at the walls which had been painted a warm tan color, and the valiant owl candlebras that had replaced the twisting snakes. The floor was lined with a plush ornamental carpet that lead to the stair well, where a crystal chandelier now hung gleaming amidst the many floating candles. The dark hardwood of the house now seemed warm and deep, where as before its matted panels seemed to hiss as you walked past.

"it's- it's wonderful sir!" gasped Harry, Dumbledore beamed over the top of his glasses. He clasped his hand on Harry's shoulder and lead him towards the kitchen, past Malfoy and Tonks who stood awkwardly by the door.

If the entry hall had been a surprise, Harry could not think of words to describe the kitchen. Dumbledore it seemed, had placed an expansion charm on the long narrow room, so that it had doubled in width. The ceiling was slanted and had been replaced with glass paneling, through which Harry could see the clear night sky above. A bright candled chandelier hung over the center of the table, casting warm light on the now dark and gleaming surface. A warm, smokeless fire crackled in the corner, the mantle piece above it bedecked with roaring lions. The walls had been painted with subtly alternating shades of red and gold, a theme that continued with the chair cushions. Harry allowed himself to be guided into a chair by the fire place, as Dumbledore sat across from him, Malfoy sitting down next to him. The blond smirked at the dumfounded expression that had graced Harry's face with the enormity of it all. Never in his life had Harry thought this place could be as beautiful as it was now. He was just about to thank Dumbledore profusely when a tall blond woman passed through the curtains that Harry had assumed led to the kitchen. Narcissa Malfoy glided smoothy into the room carrying a tray of the cinnamon rolls that Harry had smelled from the doorway. His mouth fell open yet again, earning a snicker from Malfoy, who stifled it quickly with a look from Tonks as she slid in beside Harry.

"Ah, Narcissa, you got my note then?" said Dumbledore softly.

"Yes," said Mrs. Malfoy in a stifled sort of way, "but I would appreciate a bit more warning when you are going to take my son halfway across the country in the middle of the night"

"Of course, it was not my intention for young mister Malfoy to come along but I did not see any reason to deny his request." replied Dumbldore with tactful respect in his voice.

Malfoy and his mother exchanged such venomous looks that it was now Harry's turn to snicker. Malfoy turned and glared but said nothing, much to Harry's surprise. Draco was showing a starling amount of restraint today, something Harry attributed to Dumbledore's presence more than anything. There was, however, the fact that Draco had volunteered to go with Dumbledore.

Draco Malfoy had, of his own volition, come to see Harry James Potter.

Draco Malfoy had, of his own volition, come to see Harry James Potter.

Harry repeated this in his head as Narcissa began laying out plates for them all, eying Tonks warily. He wondered why Tonks had hung around, when her presence would so obviously make the Malfoy's feel uncomfortable, not that Harry cared about their comfort he reminded himself. He had just reached the conclusion the Dumbledore had probably put her up to this when Tonks leaned next to him and whispered, "its just not worth it anymore, holding grudges, not in times like these." She smiled and accepted her cinnamon roll with more enthusiasm than Harry thought natural, even for Tonks. They ate in silence, something Harry was indeed grateful for because he soon realized just how ravenous he had become with all the stress and worry about Dumbldore's coming. The cinnamon rolls were absolutely delicious, and Harry had to resist the urge to lick the frosting off his plate, something that would positively offend the Malfoys and their delicate sensibilities. It seemed that over more than six years of rivalry Malfoy had become quite able to read even the most subtle things from Harry's expression, for he smirked knowingly across the table. It was either that or Harry had been looking at the frosting with a look that rivaled the Hungarian Horntail he had fought in his fourth year. Dumbledore had been waiting for the rest to finish, and as Narcissa slowly laid her napkin next to her plate, he cleared his throat.

With a welcoming sweep of his hands Dumbledore began, "You may be wondering, Harry, why I have brought you back to this house when I am sure you would much prefer The Burrow." he paused and looked Harry in the eye, "I see that I am quite right. You may also be wondering what the Malfoy's are doing in your house-"

"Kreachure does not mind, Kreachure is happy to have the Malfoy's back in the noble house of Black." Harry jumped at the sound of the house elf's low growling voice as he came shuffling into the kitchen.

Dumbledore looked at Kreachure with a benevolence that Harry was sure only Dumbledore could have, and continued speaking. "Unfortunately it is up to Harry as to whether or not they can stay, Kreachure." turning to Harry, he peered over his half moon spectacles expectantly.

Taken aback, Harry spluttered "uh- of course, professor."

Dumbledore clapped his hands cheerily, "wonderful, now onto our second order of business. You are aware Harry, that Lord Voldemort does not take to kindly to his supporters abandoning him, as young Draco here has…"

Malfoy played with the sleeve of his robe unintentionally, and Harry noticed that Dumbledore said nothing of the elder Malfoy. Then remembered reading in the Daily Prophet that the Malfoy manor house had mysteriously burned to the ground in the night only a few days ago, several witnesses claimed to have seen Lucius approaching the house.

"Which means," Dumbledore continued "that both Draco and his mother are in mortal peril, much the same as yourself." Dumbledore seemed to wait for Harry to say something, but when he did not Dumbledore continued, "you are aware that the dementors are now fully outside the control of the ministry and are attacking wizards and muggles alike?" Again Dumbledore seemed to pause, waiting for Harry to respond.

"Yes sir" mumbled Harry in a confused manner. He had indeed been reading this in the Prophet for quite sometime, but he failed to see what that had to do with the Malfoys.

"It Is my understanding that you are particularly proficient at Patronus charms, and what's more, you have experience teaching the skill to others…" Dumbldore trailed off and looked knowingly across at Harry, who blushed at the thought of the DA.

Then it hit him with the speed of a spring trap, Harry understood why Dumbledore had brought all this up, and why Dumbledore kept pausing to look at him. Malfoy it seemed, had also reached this conclusion and had a repulsive look on his face. Harry had to give him credit for being quick on the uptake, but he too was dreading Dumbledore's request. He began to mouth his protest but Dumbledore held up his hand. The sight of the shriveled black hand caused Harry to sit back in his seat, sighed as he realized he would do what ever the old man asked of him in the end anyway. The sight of the hand seemed to have this effect on Malfoy too, who also looked defeated.

"I want you to teach Draco the Patronous charm, Harry."

Harry felt each word hit him individually like wave after wave of dreadful glass being shoved into his brain. Never in his life had Harry thought he would be forced to cooperate with that steely eyed blond. If their disastrous foray into the dark forest during their first year was anything to go by, Harry and Draco were never meant to work together, even if they weren't trying to kill each other anymore.

"You will begin lessons tomorrow, but for now I think, it is time for bed." In a great sweeping motion Dumbledore stood, and with a flick of his wand the plates had cleared. Both Harry and Draco had stood, but Narcissa and Tonks were still seated around the the table, looking as if they were about to speak. Dumbledore gestured to the both of them to follow, which they did, playing yet another game of who-follows-Dumbledore-first. Much to Harry's surprise he came out in the lead yet again; Malfoy's lack of enthusiasm was beginning to unnerve him. The Malfoy he knew would never let Harry be the first in anything without some sort of fight, and was certainly never one to waffle in any situation. Harry mulled this over as he followed Dumbledore up the steps, only just managing to stop himself from running into the headmaster as he stopped beside the room that had always been shared by Harry and Ron. He filed past Dumbledore and was once again pleasantly surprised. The dark wood paneling seemed to glisten in the light of the soft lamps set on tables beside the beds, which now looked puffy and comfortable. A magical fire crackled in the new fireplace, below the empty portrait of the old headmaster Black. Hedwig hooted happily at the sight of him, and as he turned to let her out Harry stood agape to find not only his own trunk, but Malfoy's as well. Harry turned sharply and looked defiantly at Dumbledore, who merely peered back in that innocent manner that only Dumbledore could pull of without infuriating anyone.

"Good night Harry, Draco" said Dumbledore with a nod as he swept shut the door, leaving Malfoy standing awkwardly, staring at Harry.

Harry could not remember being this close to Malfoy without trying to hex him since the beginning of their animosity. He found that, oddly enough he didn't have that desire anymore. Sure he felt wary around Malfoy, and trusted him just about as much as he trusted Snape, but he'd thought a lot about the courage it had taken for Malfoy to confess to Dumbledore and to betray Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard in history. He saw the nervousness in Malfoy's eyes, his pupils wide as his eyebrows furrowed just ever so slightly. Slowly turning back to let Headwig out of her cage he remembered that he had promised himself that he would apologize to Malfoy for his stupidness in the hospital wing. He was just about to open the window and let her out, when he thought he'd better write a letter to Ron. Hedwig nipped him scornfully a he stepped away from the window, but then cooed softly when she realized he was giving her a task. Hastily, Harry dug his quill and parchment out of his trunk and began scratching away the details of his nigh. Hedwig accepted the letter proudly and swooped out of the window looking dignified. Harry sat on the cushioned bench below the window, feeling the cool morning air on his face as Hedwig disappeared into the mist. A patch of moonlight shone through the window, as Malfoy softly called from across the room, "Could you shut that? It's quite cold."

Harry turned his head to face Malfoy as he shut the window, just in time to see Draco letting his cloak fall from his hands to the floor. Draco's bare back shone brightly in the moonlight. His pale milky skin seemed to glow as Harry followed the lines on Draco's lithe but muscular back and before he knew what he was doing, he was noticing the dark green trunks that clung tightly to Draco's slender hips. Draco turned to face Harry and he saw, with a great pang of guilt, small lines of even paler skin criss-crossing Draco's chest. Harry bit his lip as he remembered the spell that had caused them, and resolved even more firmly to apologize to him. But that was a lot easier said than done, Malfoy had already slipped smoothy under the covers and was looking determinedly asleep.

Harry latched the window closed and began removing his own robes. Despite the fire, the room was still cold enough to cause Harry to shiver slightly as he pulled the covers up and over him. He let out a small, unintentional moan as he lay back into the bed. The softness of the mattress was heavenly and Harry melted into it with another soft moan. He blushed profusely when he remembered that Draco was lying only feet away and had most certainly heard. He died a little inside when Malfoy drew in breath as if to speak.

"muggle beds that bad potter?" said Malfoy with a mix of genuine curiosity and his usual snarky tone. Harry tensed and felt the tingling embarrassment flood his face. Draco let the comment hang taut in the air, before continuing. "That was your cousin then? That fat git with the boner?"

"Unfortunately." managed Harry shakily. He could see no hidden attack in this statement, and decided it was safe to give a little more. He was going to test the waters, see if Draco would be open to a less hostile relationship. The lack of hexing aside, Draco had been amazingly polite, even when asking him to close the window. Emboldened by this idea, Harry confessed, "most nights I can hear him through the walls."

Malfoy made a startled sort of noise and then said in a hushed voice full of disgust "...wanking?" the word seemed to leave Malfoy's mouth with great difficulty as if it was clinging with a sickening stickiness.

Harry chuckled and before he even realized it, had said "sometimes, I think about doing it back, moaning just to see his face in the morning."

"Didn't think someone like you would do that, Potter." said Malfoy in undisguised surprise.

"And what would mister Malfoy know about something so deprave?" Harry said with sarcasm he reserved specifically for Malfoy. Though this time there was no malice behind his words, something Malfoy must have understood, as he giggled softly.

With a sigh he said, "you have no idea potter, no idea." He turned his head and smiled.

It was so unbelievably foreign, to be laying here only feet from the young man he had wished to kill on more than one occasion. He knew this was as good a time for an apology as was likely to come along, but he was reluctant to spoil the tenuous relationship that had only just begun to form. With a great rush he let out the breath that he had held for far too long, and felt the dark tingle at the edges of his mind. Once his breathing had restored his vision, Harry tensed, feeling suddenly full of a tingling energy, but empty at in the same instant. He clamped his teeth shut, sure that the words of apology were going to slip out without him being aware of them. His back arched and he rose slightly out of the bed, as if some invisible force was trying to pry the words from his body. This was all a ridiculous mental battle of course, Harry admitted to himself. Yet hey lay tormented for another five minutes before finally breathing out into the dark stillness.

"Malfoy ?"

The words slipped out into the inky blackness, hanging in the void between them. Perhaps Malfoy had fallen asleep thought Harry with mixed relief and disappointment. Harry closed his eyes, eyes that had been threatening to burst from his head in his anxiety. Sighing, he leaned back into the absolute comfort that was his bed. The weight of his blankets pushed him down into the soft mattress, where he lay feeling the exquisite warmth that brushes the back of one's neck as sleep begins to take hold. He realized that Draco was not sleeping, and was in fact holding his breath in anticipation of Harry's words. This thought passed through his mind without the kind of importance that his waking mind would have grasped immediately. As if from a great distance he heard himself say the words he had been dreading, echoing back to him as he sank into the depths of sleep.

"I'm sorry, for everything."

He heard a vague mumbled noise from Malfoy before the darkness took him bodily into his dreams. Which were filled with the soft smile that Harry had turned to see only just in time.


	2. A Hint of Vanilla

Chapter 2 - A Hint of Vanilla

Draco's mind stirred lazily as the mid afternoon sun shone far too brightly on his pale face. He grumbled unintelligibly as he began to untangle himself from the sheets. A smile crossed his lips as he maneuvered his body against the soft fabric, feeling it rub against him in that pleasurable way only ever felt when one dreaded getting out of bed. The soft mattress seemed to cling to him as he gathered the will to get out of bed and shut the curtains.

Even though it was well into the afternoon, Malfoy desired nothing more than to go back to sleep. He groaned as he swung his feet out over the edge of the bed and had almost hauled his upper half off the mattress when he gave up and collapsed back into it with a smile. He felt the small tingle of pleasure as his body got what it wanted.

A small, sharp tap on the window caused the blond to jerk up and stare groggily at the window. He wore a stupid look on his face so unbecoming of his lineage. He untwisted his hips and sauntered clumsily over to the shinning white owl perched on the window ledge.

Draco seemed to forget what his intentions where as he approached the window, having gotten one hand around the latch before he stopped and squinted stupidly into the sunlight. Hedwig gave an irritable hoot and rapped the window with her beak once more. Jumping slightly, Malfoy fumbled with the latch but finally managed to pry the window open; Hedwig leapt passed him and fluttered to perch on Harry's bedside table, peering judgmentally at Malfoy as he stumbled back to bed.

Having shut the curtains, Malfoy now lay half naked and sprawled on his bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Perhaps it was the way Malfoy attempted to close the window, making a loud slamming noise, or perhaps it was Hedwig's barely audible, but incessant, hooting that woke Harry. Either way he opened his eyes groggily and reached for his glasses.

Propping himself on his elbow, Harry blushed as the pale form of Draco Malfoy came into focus. Harry immediately looked at the one smooth leg that dangled over the edge of the bed, but looked away in embarrassment as he found his eyes wander up to one of Malfoy's less slender forms.

Another soft hoot from Hedwig made Harry jump, as if he had just been caught committing a crime. He took the letter and began to read it immediately. It was short and to the point, full of shocked disbelief that Harry and Malfoy were sleeping peacefully in the same room. Harry then read the small post script that informed Harry that if he didn't respond to the letter immediately, Ron was going to inform the ministry that Harry had been murdered, and that he and Hermione would be coming over in a flurry of curses.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Harry looked around the dark room and realized he had no idea what time it was. Hastily he pulled out his quill, and wrote his response right on the back of Ron's letter. His sleepy hands felt stiff as he made to quell his friends dramatic worry. Sealing the scroll and tying it back onto Hedwig's outstretched talon, Hedwig flew out the still open window.

Harry puzzled at this fact, but soon understood. He looked over at the disheveled looking blond and realized that Hedwig must have woken him up, and in his haste to get back to sleep he had failed to close it properly.

Harry got up and stood by the window, feeling the warm summer air against his bare skin. He smiled and squinted his eyes like a cat, bathing in the sunlight. He marveled at the novelty of it. Not only had Malfoy asked to come along when Dumbledore came to fetch him, but now they had spent the night mere feet from each other in complete peace.

Harry wondered how few people had seen the smile that Malfoy had shown him last night. Even among his supposed friends Harry could not remember him ever looking truly happy. He was determined to find out just how much the steely eyed Slytherin had changed.

"Nice arse, Potter" said Malfoy with a sly smile.

Immediately Harry reached for his robes, blushing profusely as he stalked off towards the bathroom, wondering how long Malfoy had been awake. Harry gasped as he pushed open the door to the washroom. Before him stood a miniaturized version of the prefects bathroom at Hogwarts. The pool looked big enough to sit two or three people comfortably, and all of Harry's favorite taps glistened around two large columns at the far end.

"Did you finally manage to find your dick then?" called Malfoy when he heard Harry's surprise.

"Shut it Malfoy." spat Harry defensively. Changed or not, it seemed they were not above their petty squabbles. As he bent down to turn on the vanilla scented tap he decided it wasn't so bad, their bickering could be quite fun sometimes.

Harry sank into complete relaxation only a few minutes later as the tub continued to fill, mulling over the past six years of his relationship with Malfoy. It unnerved him the way it felt so natural to let this eyes rake over Malfoy's exposed skin.

He was oddly reminded of his timid relationship with Cho and how, now that he thought about it, though he had admired her beauty it probably wouldn't have held his interest for long. Sure she had had a smile that caused Harry's stomach to wriggle in delight, but her the rest of mannerisms had never held much sway over him, not really.

And then there was that stupid girlish giggle that all girls seemed carry around in their back pocket for occasions when men wanted to ask them serious questions. Harry found himself imagining Draco surrounded by a group of Slytherin girls, giggling coquettishly and batting his lashes from across the potions dungeon.

"Would you hurry the fuck up in there!" Harry was laughing at the image in his head when the muffled sound of Malfoy's voice carried through the door. "Think it's funny do you, potter? I HAVE TO P-" Malfoy quickly swallowed his last word as he pounded into the bathroom, and stood staring into the room with much the same astonishment Harry had.

Evidently Malfoy's mouth still had his last word on his tongue when he began speaking again because he finished, "pee... vanilla?"

"You have to pee vanilla Malfoy? Might want to get that checked out." said Harry giving Malfoy a sarcastic look over his shoulder.

"No," said Malfoy with confused innocence, "vanilla, it- it's my favorite."

Both boys seemed to be startled by Malfoy's accidental confession. They locked eyes, and Harry was taken aback by the depth of those steely gray orbs, something that had always been concealed from him behind a shield of smug hatred. Malfoy was the first to recover, "Take a photo, Potter, it might even do a strip tease for you if you're lucky. Look away, I'm getting in."

Harry was so taken aback that his first attempt at speaking came out as a disgruntled huff, before he finally managed, "I - you… mmm - what?"

"I. Am. Getting. In. Move the fuck over, or do I have to say it again?" Malfoy had hooked his thumb over the edge of his underwear and was beginning to tug.

Ordinarily Harry might have put up more of a fight when another bloke asked to get in the tub with him, but as it was he was too flustered, and merely shifted over, looking determinedly into the corner.

He felt the water rise slightly as Draco lowered himself into the tub. Harry tried hard to convince himself that the tingly feeling that was rushing up and down his body was normal, and had nothing specifically to do with the fact that Draco was fully nude under the water next to him.

After all, he had felt some semblance of this in the showers after a Quidditch game, the hot steamy water and the athletic bodies of his teammates had given Harry something to be embarrassed about on more than a few occasions. He had been stupid not to realize it before now, his appreciation of the male figure had started long before he'd seen Malfoy's bare skin glowing in the moonlight.

Harry had always convinced himself that if he'd been around a woman this way it would be just as arousing, but now, sitting here with far too few inches between him and the lithe blond to right, he was not so sure. Harry sucked in a hitched breath and turned to look at Malfoy, whom he was pleased to see looking stony faced and just as nervous.

He didn't know what had made him do it, but when he felt the intensity of Potter's gaze, something carnal had stirred somewhere inside of him. It had been something that he had been attempting to suppress for most of his life. Draco had always felt like some part of him was missing, or rather, submerged under layer after layer of formality and expectation. Being a Malfoy had always required him to keep a certain objectivity about his friendships, which grew even more important when he became a Death Eater.

He looked bitterly down at his forearm, the snake seemed to squirm and hiss under his gaze and he felt a familiar tingle running up and down his arm. He winced, thinking about the loneliness and fear that had gripped him so terribly last year. His paranoia had driven him to extremes, and he regretted the fearful obedience that he now expected to see in the eyes of his peers.

"Does it hurt?" Draco had originally thought Harry had read into his mind and was asking about the loneliness, but he soon realized the question referred to the dark mark. "It used to, but now it just sort of…."

"Tingles." Harry didn't say it as a question, it was as if he knew what he was talking about.

Malfoy looked at him, taken aback. Harry smiled and reached a hand up and into his hair, revealing his lighting scar. He then ducked his head and turned to Malfoy, opening his eyes in that dramatic fashion that gave Draco momentary tunnel vision. All he could see were the glistening green eyes boring straight into him. Draco knew little else apart from the fact that he had never felt so alive as he did at this moment, staring into the eyes of his once most hated enemy.

He could no longer deny it, he found Potter attractive. Along with the feelings of loneliness and solitude, Draco had been trying to squash his attraction to the green eyed boy since the previous year. It had started as jealousy, concerning the undying dedication of Harry's Gryffindor comrades, but it quickly blossomed into admiration. Draco knew that as much as Harry relied upon his friends, he always lived as though he was shouldering the burden himself. This unwavering arrogance had always driven Malfoy up wall, but a subtle change of perspective took place when the Dark Lord gave him his most dreadful task.

He remembered the way he used to startle himself in the mirror, looking increasingly gaunt as the days slipped past. The weight of the task had been torturous; Sure he had always hated the old git of a headmaster, but Malfoy had never prepared himself to be a murderer. And when he saw Harry going about his day as if nothing had changed, as if the Dark Lord had not risen once again, sitting through his classes as if the only thing that mattered was the potions essay that was due later that day, Malfoy's crippling insecurity began to eat away at him once again.

He tormented himself with thoughts of Harry's strength and became absolutely irate when he saw him staring across the great hall with stolid determination blazing in those bright green orbs. The moment of truth, so to speak, came to him as he lay in the hospital wing, trying not to move incase he reopened the gaping wounds he had received in his duel with Potter. Crowded around his bed were Pansy Parkinson, Crabb, and Goyle; he had been trying to convince Pansy that he would be fine so that she could stop her incessant girlsh worrying. He knew that her determination to get into his pants came not from an admiration of his personality, but rather, from a whorish dependancy on his looks and his heritage. Crabb and Goyle offered nothing but stupidity, as usual, but did manage to pass Malfoy the letter that had been delivered from home.

Malfoy Clenched his teeth as he remembered the feigned concern that his father had written into the letter. He was doing nothing more than checking in on his 'investment', reminding him how important it was for the Malfoys to regain their good graces with the Dark Lord. It was later than night, when he was softly crying in despair that something snapped within him. He saw laid out before him, the entire life of sheltered privilege, control, and feigned happiness that he had led up until this point. He saw himself growing old and cunning like his father, groveling at the feet of the most selfish man in existence. He saw himself, forcing his own child into this life of darkness, like leading cattle to the slaughter house.

In one glorious moment the elaborate machine that had been the web of his priorities came spluttering to halt and imploded. It was as if he'd been chained to the bottom of the lake and had suddenly been set free; he rose up through the layers of darkness and cold. Rising to the surface, he had taken his first sweet breath of freedom, and was crying for the sheer joy of being in control of his own destiny for the first time in his life. He had renounced his father, he had renounced the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore it seemed, knew all about it.

He heard the door to the hospital wing open, and Draco smiled wider than he'd dared since the innocence of youth, feeling no bitterness towards Dumbledore's omniscience. Dumbledore had a knowing twinkle in his eye, and a warm expression that never left his face, even as Malfoy gave his confession. Like the father that Lucius could never have been, Dumbledore did not pass judgement, and to Draco's absolute astonishment, the old man clasped Draco's hands in his and forgave him.

He lay awake in bed long after Dumbledore had left, possessed by a singular idea. He had been wrong about Harry James Potter, and owed him and apology.

Draco smirked as he sank a little further into the sweet smelling bubbles that surrounded him, think about how it had taken them both just about the same amount of time to live up to their promises to apologize. He looked over at Harry, almost about to tell him how much he had played a role in who Draco was, in who he was becoming, when he saw that the boy was leaning his head against the side of the tub, smiling. He was momentarily transfixed, but changed tack as quickly as a small boat out in a sea (of bubbles).

"It'd be nice if you could wait until I'm at least out of the tub before furiously touching yourself to thoughts of me." He said teasingly, reaching one hand up to stroke sensually across his chest. Whatever Potter had been thinking, it was gone from his mind the instant he laid eyes on Malfoy. Unfortunately his face became impassive and unreadable before Malfoy could decide if Harry liked what he saw, or was merely surprised.

It was neither.

Harry had been going through his plans for their Patronus lessons in an attempt to keep his mind off of Malfoy's possible motives for sharing the bath. He had half convinced himself that Malfoy did it to save water, regardless of the fact that he knew Malfoy's spoiled nature would never think of such frivolous things.

He had also decided that his compassion for the blond extended no farther than pity and guilt. Pity and guilt. It was that simple. And in order to keep himself from examining the problem any further he began to conjure his happiest memories, the ones he kept close at hand for use in the Patronus charm… and those times when he felt most alone in the darkness of the night.

Harry had just relived the moment when Sirius had asked him about staying a Grimmauld place over the summers. He remembered the disbelief, and then felt once again, the sudden eruption of unbridled joy. For a brief moment Harry almost felt as if Sirius could return from beyond the veil when that ferretous git had made it all come crashing down around him.

He fit himself with a stony look, determined not to let Malfoy see his pain, and rose, turning his body away from the blond as he slid out of the spacious tub. Malfoy did not turn around as Harry grabbed a towel and made for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. "You will need a happy memory for the Patronus, Draco, shouldn't be too difficult for our pampered little pureblood prince." He slammed the door with unnecessary force, but not before he saw Draco slump into the side of the tub. Harry dried himself with the flick of his wand and was soon walking down the stairs, having ripped on a fresh pair of robes.

Harry walked into the dinning room and was startled to find Narcissa and Tonks chatting animatedly over afternoon tea. Contrary to being surprised, or even relieved to see this, it served to sour his mood even further. He spun on his feet and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving the hint of vanilla and two rather stunned women in his wake.

He wandered the halls for a few minutes, before deciding to hole himself up in the drawing room. Harry's head was spinning from the heat of the bath, and his emotional turbulence concerning a certain insensitive blond. Harry still wanted to hate Malfoy, he realized as he lay sprawled on the plush carpet of the newly renovated drawing room. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows which, it seemed, had been bewitched to reflect the mood of the observer. The trees on the street below creaked and bent in the gusty air as dark clouds gathered over head.

Six years of loathing could not be erased by one or two valorous acts. No, Malfoy would have to prove himself worthy of Harry's compassion and friendship. He knew, no matter how much people appeared to change, a clean slate was only an ideal. An Ideal that belonged with people who were too trusting, not with people like Harry, who were steeling themselves against mortal peril.

Malfoy felt the corner's of his eyes sting slightly as he lay his head against the marbled edge of the tub. He had fucked up. He had let his snide tendencies get the better of him. But still, how was he to know that Potter had been savoring some happy memory? He thought about what Harry had said, and determined that it must have been something concerning Sirius, given the anger and sadness that had laced Harry's retort. Harry only reacted with this much emotion when it concerned his family, or lack there of thought Malfoy with note of pity.

Draco remembered the painful night he spent alone in this house with Dumbledore, thinking that his mother too, had abandoned him. He smiled as he remembered revealing his feelings to his mother including his growing, but then uncertain, ideas about Harry. She had smiled and held him in an embrace, mumbling something about what ever made him happy. Yes, thought Malfoy, that had been one of the happiest moments of his life, even if it was only because of the contrasting despair he had been wallowing in. His thoughts once again returning to Harry and his parting words, Malfoy winced as he realized that Harry would never feel the comforting arms of a mother. He sank lower into the tub. The bubbles were long gone, and the water beginning to turn cold when Malfoy finally hauled himself out of the tub.

Harry lay on the floor looking out into the calm evening sky, and sighed deeply as Malfoy stepped timidly into the room.


	3. Evergreen and Wildflower

Thank you all so much for the reviews, its really quite encouraging. I told myself I was writing this solely for myself, but in all honesty I check my email constantly to see if anyone has subscribed or reviewed. I'll be trying to cut down on the size of the paragraphs from now on. Also, I'm sorry about the Kreacher misspelling, I thought I changed it but I guess I uploaded the previous version.

Never before had a door knob given Malfoy such trouble. His hand gripped it nervously but refused to turn the small round piece of metal. It was a relatively simple device, but it was the boy on the other side that made this simple turning of the knob so incredibly difficult. He had checked nearly every room in the house before eventually stopping in front of this door, and he was almost certain Harry was beyond.

"Does master want Kreacher to open the door for him, sir?"

The ragged old house elf came shuffling around the corner out of the darkness. He looked around shiftily, seeming very out of place in the newly renovated house. He turned his huge eyes imploringly to Malfoy and reached out his hand towards the door.

"Very well." said Draco with a sigh, taking pity on the old elf who had little left to do, now that most of the furniture in the house was self cleaning. Malfoy smiled softly when he remembered his mother's face when the couch she had been lounging on began to shake, sending dust flying up around a very irate Black. Narcissa had recently taken to using her maiden name, something that made Malfoy feel more than a little uncomfortable.

He followed Kreacher into the room, thinking bitterly about the shame he and his father had wrought upon their family name.

"The filthy half-blood master Potter is in here, there are many other rooms in this house master Malfoy, I can show you if you like, sir" grumbled Kreacher in a low voice.

"I think I shall be okay for a few minutes at least, and do refrain from calling Potter that from now on."

Both Kreacher and Potter looked as if they'd been slapped across the face. "Kreacher does not take order's from a filthy blood traitor." The wrinkly old elf scooted deftly out the door in an attempt to escape the finality of Harry giving him the very same order.

Despite the fact that Harry had quickly recomposed his face he was clearly still in shock, far from thinking about giving order's to the house elf he didn't even consider his own.

"So, Potter… how are we going to go about this lessons thing anyway?" said the blond in an attempt to banish the three hundred pound Gorrilla that had been lumbering about the room, breathing into the heavy air about their faces.

Harry's face was resolute and Draco found himself squirming under the fierce intensity of the probing green eyes. Harry's face was side lit by the falling light, and Draco was finding it hard to breath. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be slightly miffed by Harry's girlish and overly emotional reaction during the bath.

Harry's lip quivered before he spoke.

Malfoy was no longer thinking about being miffed.

They began with the wand movement and incantation. Draco was an able student and had perfected the movement almost as fast as Hermione had during the DA meetings. Harry was pleasantly surprised with the ease in which they interacted, almost forgetting that he was patiently coaching the very person whom he had nearly killed only a few months ago.

Malfoy repeated the wand movement, holding his arm a little too low, and not quite exaggerating the flick at the end. Harry leaned in a grasped Draco's wand hand in his own, pulling him through the correct motion. "the books will often tell you not to flick the wand at the end of you stroke, but I find that if you do a sort of flick like this - No well I guess its more of a jab, the Patronus will come out with more speed, now for a defensive shield…."

Malfoy barely heard any of this, it was as if the world had closed in around him the moment they had touched. His vision faded in and out with the beat of his heart, and while one part of him nearly buckled under the weight of Harry's hand, another was quietly disgusted. He had not expected himself to be this deep into his attraction to Harry, after all it hadn't been but an hour since he'd first admitted it to himself. Well he might as well go with it then, thought Draco as he turned to stare meaningfully into Harry's eyes.

They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment and Harry felt an unfamiliar pull as he gazed into those glistening, steely blue eyes. He pulled away from Malfoy and felt the air brush past his face. The faintest smell of evergreen and wild flowers filled his senses.

"Well let's give it a go then shall we?" Harry pushed his glasses back up on his nose, and cleared his throat. "I'll give you three tries, Draco, and then we'll have a little talk."

Readying himself, Malfoy tried to recall his feeling from the time when his mother had accepted his new place in the world. Closing his eyes, he tried to imaging her arms around him once again.

"Expecto Patronum!" Malfoy flick-jabbed his wand at the end of his swoosh, as Harry had indicated. A small whitish wisp darted out of the end of his wand but disappeared nearly as quickly as it came. Had they been on less frosty terms at the moment, Draco would have braced himself for a snide comment about impotency, but as it were Harry merely gestured for him to try again.

Largely the same thing happened the next two times, though on the third Draco swore that it was beginning to have more of a distinct form. Harry stayed very silent during the entire process, choosing instead to watch Malfoy's movements scrupulously.

Those green eyes seemed to contain a great deal of wisdom; Draco thought about the difference between himself and the young man who was patiently coaching him. In a few short months the entirety of Draco's future had become misty and clouded once again. Though unlike the youthful hope for a bright and shinning future he had cherished as a child, Draco felt a great deal of fear and trepidation. He was once again amazed by Harry's solidarity, for despite the fact that Harry knew he would soon face the Dark Lord, he did not go about his day as if it would be his last living look at the world. As he stood there, watching Draco with such focused intensity, he seemed to have a curiosity about the world that Draco had all but lost in the long year he had spent as Voldemort's unwilling assassin.

"You alright Malfoy?"

He released the tension that had crept unknown into his face and nodded his head in Harry's direction.

"Well alright," said Harry as he clasped his hands and rubbed them together, "I suppose we should discuss the theory of the thing a bit more, sit down."

As Harry sank into one of the arm chairs feeling the plush cushioning conform beautifully to his body. Dumbledore certainly seemed to know his way around comfort, but Harry couldn't help but feel that he was going to fall asleep if he sat for too long. Then he noticed Malfoy looking expectantly at him through the golden light that now suffused the room. The sunlight made Draco's blond hair glow with matching intensity, an effect that was equally as stunning as the moonlight on his soft skin. Harry only just caught himself before he slipped into an interior debate concerning which one was actually the better of the two.

Slightly flustered, he turned to Malfoy and launched into a familiar explanation of the basic principles of the spell. He had confidence in his words, having worked out the most potent phraseology during his time in the DA, but it increased dramatically as he saw a rather awed expression creep across Malfoy's visage.

"Let me ask you something, Draco. Have you ever thought about what happiness actually is? I mean really thought about it?"

Draco listened to the way his name rolled off Harry's tongue, and watched his lips form the sounds, thinking surely this is what happiness actually is.

Harry was slightly taken aback by the way Draco closed his eyes and smiled, but continued after an awkward clearing of his throat.

"Well- I think people who have successfully conjured a corporeal patronus have a new perspective on happiness." Draco's eyes had opened again, and he was listening to Harry, seeming to absorb his words like a sponge. Needless to say Harry had never expected this kind of attention from Malfoy even in all his wildest imaginings.

"You see, in sorting out which memories produce the strongest magic I have realized a slight distinction. I suppose its really down to a matter of perspective, but happiness cannot be merely a release from pain and suffering. It has to be the experience of some novel joy, something better than you could have ever expected, not something to quell the pain from which you've been craving release."

He let Malfoy think about what he had said for a a few moments, going over it to make sure he had conveyed it as clearly as he could.

After a few silent moments in which the youths sat in comfortable, heavy silence, Draco said,

"What about love?"

Harry felt his heart beat loud in his ears as he thought about the crushing, crippling loneliness that had been gripping him in the night. When Harry finally spoke, his voice was choked and quiet.

"I'm- I'm not sure. What did you think of Malfoy? It might help me understand a bit of what is missing from the - er - procedure…"

Draco blushed and furrowed his brow as he looked across the small space between them. It had grown quite dark now, and Malfoy flicked his wand at the fire place, where a fire began murmuring immediately. Harry felt the heat on his face as he watched Malfoy open and close his mouth a few times, trying to begin without success.

Finally he began speaking, in a very quiet, reserved voice, "It was the day Dumbledore had brought me here, saying it was one of the few places Voldemort could not - " he stopped himself and looked up at Harry, who was equally in shock, but gave him an encouraging smile. Draco continued. "…find. I lay in the creaky darkness, brooding over who I had been until this point, and how I was going to remake myself. I don't expect a blank slate… No, I don't deserve a blank slate. But- but I want to thank you, Harry, for giving me this much of a chance. Really and truly, it's more than I could have wished for." He looked up, and his watery eyes seemed to reach right into that lonely place in Harry's chest.

Harry had not prepared himself for this kind of thing, he had not expected Malfoy to be this open, or this humble. The mention of the blank slate caused Harry a pang of guilt, perhaps he had been a little testy earlier. Certainly Dumbledore would say Malfoy deserved a second chance, though Harry resolved not to give Malfoy quite as many as Dumbledore had

given Snape.

"You're welcome, then, I suppose. I never even half dreamed any of this could happen. I mean, this, us sitting here, together."

Draco could tell from the choppiness of his sentences that Harry had been caught off guard by his bluntness. He himself was surprised by the relative ease with which he had said those words. After a brief silence, during which Harry fidgeted nervously in his recliner, Malfoy continued, saying,

"I'm sorry, I didn't finish telling you about my memory…"

Harry had his hand placed nervously around his face, so that Draco only barely heard the muffled words, " 'sno problem."

"I told my mother all about my - my … well, things. And she hugged me, without judgement, the way a family should."

Harry tried to speak, in order to keep himself from imagining what I must be like to be comforted by the warm embrace of a mother, but could think of nothing to say. After finally choking back the dull but familiar pain that he associated with remembering his lack of family, he mumbled thanks to Draco. He looked up to see Malfoy sitting far back into his chair, gazing into the fire. The light danced across his face and Harry fallowed it across the refined forms of Draco's face.

He turned to look at the fire himself. It was agonizing, trying to keep his mind focused and away from thoughts of Draco. Too often he found him self stealing glances at Draco, transfixed by the play of light across his eyes and lips, or the way it wove in and out of his hair.

Harry gave a great, heaving sigh and sank back into his chair, feeling the warmth and the softness close in about him. The air smelled heavy, and he felt as he did when he sat in the comfy poufs of Trelawney's classroom. Draco turned to look at him as he sighed, and Harry couldn't help but feel that Draco's constant attention and fervent glances seemed too frequent. Not even Hermione, the queen of worried looks, scrutinized Harry's face as often as Draco seemed to be doing. This thought floated across his relaxed mind, and he gave it a loose sort of focus. He knew Malfoy was only looking at him, studying him, to see if Harry was over their little tiff, but a quiet part of him wished for something a little more.

In the meditative state induced by the coziness of the room, Harry felt his way around himself, exploring his various components. He often liked to think this way, pulling out each individual part of his personality and looking at it, picking it apart, to see exactly what he was feeling. He looked first at his pride, which had been inflated by Malfoy's relative success with his first attempt at the Patronus. Thoughts of Malfoy caused his loneliness to come floating up from the depths of his consciousness, breaking free from his attempts to shove it back down into the depths of his mind. The more he tried to suppress it, the more he tried to sequester it beneath the layers of his other emotions, the more it seemed to grow and swell. Its inky blackness expanded out to the corner's of his vision, its languid and bulbous expanse of fleshy darkness throbbing painfully against his temples.

Winding its slender tentacles around him, Harry felt his loneliness begin to lift and tear at his skin. He felt a burning pain creep slowly up his arm, the hurt came in slow waves, as if across

a great distance. But I seemed to grow more powerful as it barreled across the darkness to batter him against the fetid walls that surrounded him. Tensing and warping, the darkness began to tear muscle from bone, ripping the flesh apart with fervent gluttony. The pain was beyond the comprehension of Harry's mind at this point, it had become a high whine that seemed to emit in all directions from the jagged scar on his forehead.

The darkness began to tense and convulse, chewing Harry into oblivion within its black, torpid mass. As Harry hung mangled in the grip of his loneliness, a high hissing voice rang out of the void.

"You are weak, Harry Potter." The words rubbed up against Harry with a sickening wetness. "I hunt you boy, and before the end you shall feel such pain. Such pain." The last words were graced with a slimy cackle that reverberated around the emptiness in Harry's chest.

He had been on the verge of dozing of when he heard Harry give a great sigh and lean back into his chair. He stole a quick glance before he remembered that he ought not do this every time Potter moved, it was probably becoming noticeable. He settled back into his chair in an attempt to look non-pulsed and aloof. It was not long before he was back feeling the warm tickle on the nape of his neck, it told him sleep was near. As his concentration lapsed, he felt his eyes wander back to Harry, but he did not care. Harry's eyes were closed, and Draco was entranced by the flicker of light on his lashes, and the dark locks of hair that fell about his face. How long Draco sat there, staring endlessly at Harry's features, he did not know; but a slow change began to take place. A slight furrow had appeared between his brow, and his lips became taut. Draco could see Harry's eyes flickering back and forth behind his lids; his hands began to claw at the arms of the chair. Draco stood up nervously, watching the tendons on the back of Harry's hands and neck convulse in a way that caused Malfoy sympathetic pain. In a sudden movement Harry gripped his arms and began to dig his nails into his skin, raking them down his arm. A fierce, dense wave of air blew back Draco's robes and the fire went out with a huff. Draco groped in the dark for Harry's arms, and when he finally gripped them, he felt something hot and wet run onto his fingers. Harry's hands, lacking his own flesh, dug into Draco's wrist.

Harry's eyes flew open, glowing unnaturally in the darkness. Draco could see by their glow that darkness had crept into the veins on Harry's face, and blood dripped from the lighting scar on his forehead. It glistened as Harry rose up and began to speak in a hissing voice that reverberated darkly around the room. The world seemed to pulse in a sickening manner as Draco heard the crippling voice of the Dark Lord. It rose out of Harry's throat with a monstrous power, shaking through Malfoy's chest and throwing him away from Harry.

He broke through the pain and gripped his wand, pointing it at the chest of the boy now floating off the floor in front of him. Malfoy knew that Voldemort was using some form of legilimency to break into Harry's mind this way, but knew not how to banish it. His mind seized upon the word, and with a power in his voice he roared, "Infitialis Exulan!"

A silver-blue light rocketed out of Draco's wand and struck Harry square in the chest. The floor boards creaked as the silver shock wave blew about the room, Draco's spell had rejected and banished Voldemort from Harry's mind. A slimy black mass began to spew violently from Harry's mouth, flexing and emitting a howling, anguished yell. I hung limply in the air a few feet from Harry's head, where small silver slits of light began to slash feverishly at the ropey tendons that held up its from. The Dark Lords howl of rage filled the room and shook the furniture as the black mass burst and dissipated with a deep booming reverberation.

Draco lay panting as an old, but strong, voice lit a wand from somewhere behind Malfoy, illuminating the crumpled form of Harry Potter, who lay crying on the floor.

Harry found himself in the cool stillness of early dawn. Steel gray mist drifted calmly into his mind and he breathed in the sweet scent of evergreen. He reached his hand out and twined his fingers in the wild flowers that lay about him. He felt tears streaming down his face, snapping open his eyes in shock as he realized that they were not his own. He felt hands on his shoulders and looked up into the cool gray eyes of Draco Malfoy. A tear ran from the corner of Malfoy's eye to the tip of his nose, where it fell onto Harry's cheek. Harry felt himself rise up slightly towards Malfoy, but grew weak as he watched Draco's bottom lip quiver when he drew in a hitched breath. Harry's hand unwound from Draco's hair and drifted to his cheek. Draco reached up his own hand and gently leaned into Harry's palm, closing his eyes as he did so.

Harry felt tears sting at the corner of his eyes, and all too soon Draco had risen to face Dumbledore as he stepped forward out of the darkness.


	4. Iron and Salt

Thank you yet again for the all comments, its really kept me going. Sorry for the extreme delay with this chapter, I've been extremely busy the past couple of weeks. Good news is that I am now ahead one chapter, so if I get busy again I should be able to still update once a week.

Also, for those of you that are confused, the spell that Draco used is based of the latin words for reject and intruder, basically he banished Voldemort from Harry's mind. Sorry for the confusion.

Dumbledore held up his hand before Malfoy could launch into an account of what had happened.

"In a moment, Draco, first" he said, flicking his wand towards the fireplace. Immediately a fire began to roar in the hearth. "Now, onto mister Potter." Dumbledore knelt beside Harry, and held his bleeding arms in his wizened hands. He deftly healed the wounds as he traced his wand over the ragged cuts. Leaning back he peered at Harry over his half moon spectacles. Dumbledore's blue eyes looked worriedly at Harry, who had no idea where to begin.

"Honestly," began Harry with a hoarseness in his voice, "honestly, I feel fine now." He drew back his arms and rubbed the new flesh, smearing the blood that had begun to dry.

"Be that as it may, I feel I would be doing you an injustice if I failed to do all that is in my power to help." Said Dumbledore, rising and reaching out his hand to pull Harry to his feet.

Now that he was standing, Harry marveled at his lack of weakness or pain. Only moments ago it had felt as if he had been skinned alive and eaten by a giant, but now his mind was clear and his skin intact. He felt a slight tingle of adrenaline, but apart from that he felt very much normal. He bit his lip, looking around the dark room to find Malfoy standing at the edge of the darkness, looking ashamed and worried. He eyed Harry nervously out of the corner of his eye, but would not look at him directly.

The tension that lay between them was palpable, it hung in the air like so many taut piano strings. They stood in tight silence, as if the slightest sound of breathing might snap the tenuous bond between them. Harry closed his eyes, and tried to settle the beat of his heart, but visibly jumped when Dumbledore cleared his throat behind him.

Coming around to face them both of them he beamed, something Harry thought to be quite an inappropriate expression. He tried to give Dumbledore a quizzical expression but his face felt tired and his muscles refused all attempts and making a face. Suddenly he was overcome with the wave of tiredness that often follows in the absence of adrenaline. Dumbledore gave him a knowing smile and said,

"No need to worry about explanations, Harry, I think there may be a better way for us to understand what happened. Exactly what happened." He finished quietly.

He took Harry by the shoulder and lead him gently out of the room, guiding him up the stairs to the room that Harry and Draco shared. He heard Draco following silently behind them, but was too distracted by what Dumbledore meant to pay him much heed.

Dumbledore creaked open the dark hardwood door and lit the lamps beyond and stepped back to allow Harry and Draco to file inside, but then turned and left before either of them even noticed. When finally they did, Malfoy looked as though he was about to speak, but decided instead to cradle his arms, which were still bleeding from where Harry had dug his nails into Malfoy's milky flesh. Harry winced and turned away, hating now more than ever that he was still underage. He reached his hand unknowingly towards his wand; Malfoy having noticed this, turned his palms towards Harry in a clear gesture of 'don't worry about it,' but did not speak.

Harry stood staring guiltily at the deep red that slowly dripped down onto the floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Both boys watched it intently, not daring to move or even breath too loudly, for the tension had returned. Harry desperately wished that their relationship would not continue with this sort of trepidation indefinitely. The timidness in the bath seemed a quaint affair compared to Harry's feelings now. Words kept coming right up to the edge of him being able to say them, before slipping back down into the boiling pool that was his mind. The sleepiness was gone, his mind was in full overdrive trying to find some way to mend the relationship he had so royally fucked up.

Of course nothing could be easy about Harry's life; his relationship with Draco had only just begun to sprout up through the earth, only just begun to feel the warmth of companionship before it was stomped into oblivion by the dark forces that set against Harry at every turn. Once again someone had been harmed because of his irresponsible failure to learn how to properly defend his mind. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Then Draco did something wholly unexpected, and had Harry been in a less dreadful mood, something he would have probably found erotic in some small, bestial part of himself.

The blond lifted one of his hands to his mouth, and began to lick and suck at his wounds. Closing his eyes in what seemed like pleasure, Draco turned his head towards Harry. Transfixed by what he saw, Harry's stress was momentarily suspended. He watched as Malfoy's tongue slipped back into his mouth, leaving only the slightest hint of dark glistening blood on his lips. Harry could see Draco's veins coursing beneath his opalescent skin, contrasting so beautifully with the life that stained his lips. Those lips that Harry could never have.

For the umpteenth time that day Harry caught himself thinking in a most undesirable direction. This hesitation allowed his previous roiling thoughts to burst back into his mind with a fury. Harry had to look away from Malfoy to keep from saying the stupid and cliché things that kept threatening to break free of his lips. The time that passed from then until Dumbledore returned seemed to Harry as a hundred years compressed into a few short moments.

Harry's anxiety seemed to swell up and explode inside his head as the door opened and Dumbledore stepped from the hall carrying a large stone bowl. The pensive looked oddly plain when it was not surrounded by the ornate glass case and the magical paraphernalia of Dumbledore's office. Suddenly Harry's reeling mind seized upon the realization of what the headmaster had meant by 'exactly what happened.' They had never used it to view memories in first person, but he assumed that in this case it was his subjective experience that was precisely what they were after.

"No." said Harry with an excessively zealous defiance that startled both he and Draco. Dumbledore, however, was as usual not surprised in the least. He looked at Harry, holding the heavy bowl in his hands with surprising strength.

"If you are concerned for my well being, Harry, I can assure you that I am not new to torture and pain." Said Dumbledore, shifting the weight of the pensive to one hand, and holding up the grizzled black mass that was his other hand. "I cannot demand that you give me this memory, but I humbly request it, as your head master, as your comrade, as your friend. Do not seek to shoulder this burden alone Harry, do not shut out those who love you."

The headmaster let those words hang in the air and sink in around Harry like the guilt trip no other man on earth could induce. After a slow, defeated sigh Harry reached his wand to his temple, summoning forth the memories of that evening. He took extra care to skip just past his thoughts of Malfoy as he extracted the silvery wisp of thought with the tip of his wand. Dumbledore held out the stone basin and all watched in wonder as the silvery thought began to swirl and mix with the silvery liquid. Soon the surface became still and mirror like as the elder wizard lay the pensive on Harry's desk.

Harry's mouth opened slightly as Malfoy immediately stepped forward towards the pensive. He was even more surprised when Dumbledore clasped him on the shoulder and smiled as if this whole thing had been planned from the start. Too soon for Harry to protest, or even make little noises of confusion, the two unlikeliest of allies leaned forward to be absorbed by the opalescent fluid. It rose up like liquid glass about their faces and in the smoothest of motions drew them into the swirling pool.

After a few more moments of astonishment, Harry noticed the surface of the pensive grow dark and black. Slowly rising out of the surface came the dark black tentacles that had encircled his mind. Soon he saw the bulbous black growths and muscly mass begin to pulse and rise out of the liquid. Though he knew Dumbledore was infinitely stronger than he appeared Harry still shuddered to think of the aged man going through so much pain. Though to Harry the pain seemed have stretched out for several hours, Dumbledore and Malfoy we soon emerging from the pensive. Just as it began to fully register that Malfoy was again volunteering to be part of Harry's life, and had just stepped willingly into a torturous memory, Harry was staring into the pained and tearful eyes of the regal blond.

The three of them let a dense silence fall about them as they watched the pensive return its usual mirror like state. In the brief moment that he and Malfoy had locked eyes Harry saw something unexpected; a mixture of pity and sympathy that he had never once imagined those steely blue eyes would hold. Draco's eyes had a beautiful glisten like so much water running over river rocks in the moonlight, their lids tinted red and innocent.

Dumbledore leaned heavily against the dark wood walls of the room, visibly weakened by the experience. His bright, heavily embroidered, turquoise robes hung about him without the youthful bounce he usually wore. Seeming to notice that Harry was watching him, Dumbledore breathed in and set his face, turning to face them with his usual majesty.

"It is a curious monster, loneliness." Began Dumbledore, summoning forth three of the chairs from the corner of the room for them to sit. Once they were all situated, he summoned three mugs of a hot steamy drink that Harry felt was somewhere between butter beer and hot chocolate. In any case both boys felt a great sense of comfort, and settled into their chairs in anticipation of the headmaster's words.

"It seems that Voldemort has once again found a way to use his connection to in a most…" he paused and tiled his head upwards, looking for the right word. Finally he decided, and looked out over his steepled hands saying, "agonizing way."

The guilt that had been consuming him finally burst from his lips. In a rush of words Harry said, "It's my fault professor, I - I know I should have tried harder to learn from him. From Snape. In the occlumency lessons." Thinking it sounded better in his head, Harry was rather upset by how he had ended his little apology. He added, "I'm sure Hermione and I can figure it out, I will learn it, I promise." He leaned back as he said the last words, hoping that he had sounded confident in his suggestion of Hermione. Though she indeed knew the principle, Harry doubted that she had given it much serious practice, not enough to teach anyone in any case.

"No doubt the two of you could indeed master the fickle art of occlumency, given enough time. But, I think you will also see now, if you did not after the unfortunate death of your godfather, how imperative it is that you learn this skill. You must defend yourself, do not give the dark lord insight into your emotions, your weakness. He will use this against you, Harry, have no delusions about that."

The guilt that had been building on Harry's shoulders suddenly turned to a solid heavy mass that instant Dumbledore had mentioned Sirius. His insides squirmed painfully under the headmaster's gaze.

"I cannot ask you to resume lessons with professor Snape, nor do we have the time for you to learn it on your own." Dumbledore inclined his head towards Malfoy, who seemed to nod in acknowledgement. Barely giving Harry time to ponder their secret communication, the headmaster began to speak again almost immediately.

"There is, however, another person in this very room who has mastered the art of occlumency. I dare say nearly as well as Severus, in fact." He peered over his half moon spectacles at Harry, with a hopeful and knowing twinkle in his eyes. Though Harry knew Dumbledore would never speak of himself in this way, he still clung to the hope that it was not Malfoy whom he was speaking of. Harry's mind soon kicked into over drive as he realized what thoughts Malfoy would have access too as the blond probed around his defenseless mind. He scrambled to find a way out of the horribly embarrassing situation that Dumbledore had proposed. He gave up as he looked at the wizened face of the headmaster, knowing all to well that there really was no denying the old man.

"Draco, do you think you could give us a minute? Harry, it seems, needs a bit more convincing." Malfoy nodded, and rose; he walked silently to the door as Harry resisted the urge to watch his body as it gracefully moved away into the darkness.

The door clicked softly, and Dumbledore again turned his gaze to Harry. Rather than suffer under the density of the silence, or the power behind those piercing blue eyes, Harry decided to come out with it.

"It's not that don't think he can do it professor, it's that…. It's that right now, my feelings, my- It's complicated." Harry finally finished, again frustrated by his inability to actually articulate his feelings. Of all people, Harry usually felt most comfortable speaking to the headmaster, but sexuality and relationships had never been one of their topics.

"I will not pretend that love is a simple magic, Harry, in my long years I daresay I have learned that much at least. I think, in a way, part of the fun is the mystery of it." He paused for a moment to exhale deeply, as if thinking of some long lost passion. After a minute he focused his eyes on Harry, and with a great seriousness said, "This much I know for certain, Harry, do not let your uncertainty turn to fear."

It was evident that Harry had confusion written all over his face, for Dumbledore frowned and pondered what to say next. Certainly Harry felt an awkward sort of attraction towards Malfoy, but he was quite sure he could never love him. It was just too far from the relationship they had been spitefully crafting over the past six years.

"Few know this about me, Harry, though I'm sure some have guessed. I suppose most of the people who would be curious about this… aspect of my personality are long gone." Pausing, and giving a little sigh, Dumbledore continued, placing his heeled shoes on the ottoman. "I'm not the straightest of men, Harry. I know what it is to be uncertain as you are."

It took nearly a full minute for Harry to process this information, during which Dumbledore began to chuckle softly. In much the same way he had responded to Malfoy in the bath, Harry's first attempts at speech were nothing more than breath and noises. Finally, after a meditative pause in which Harry attempted to collect his thoughts he said, in as strong a voice as he could manage, "I am not in love with Draco Malfoy. Sir."

"Indeed." Said Dumbledore in with a hint of sarcasm the normal observer would not have noticed. But Harry, who had grown used to the headmaster's mannerisms just managed to catch it. He gave Dumbledore a scathing glance, and then turned away in a huff.

"I will tell you this Harry, it is far easier to begin learning occlumency by first learning to guide the intruder through less precious memories. We shall try it in the morning, but for now I think you have earned some rest." He summoned the empty cups and bade Harry goodnight, who inclined his head weakly, already absorbed in thought.

So many thoughts now stormed about his head that Harry could no longer sit still. The room was still and quiet, as if it belonged somewhere warm and deep inside the ministry of magic. He began to pace about the room, trying to work out some of the energy in thoughts with his body. The air was absolutely still and Harry watched the dust billow out before him in the air as he moved, the musty smell of the old wood panels giving him a strange calm. He was finally able to separate the roiling mass within his head into somewhat manageable portions. Instead of causing Harry to go into a state of mute mental paralysis, he was able to parse out individual strains of thought. First he dealt with and got over the fact that Dumbledore was gay. Chuckling as he thought of Dumbledore's eccentric garb, he had always just chalked that up to being a quirk of the wizarding world. It was only then that realized how few wizards he had seen with high heels, despite the fact that many of them also wore elaborately embroidered robes.

He moved onto the advice that Dumbledore had given him, resolving to try and venture out in front of his intruders, guiding them along a path he choose. At the very least he would try to block them from certain memories, remembering the slight success he'd had with Snape on those rare occasions.

Next he moved onto the biggest and most conflicted of his thoughts. Harry leaned his head against the window, looking out into the frosty blackness. He didn't feel like he had been that obvious about his attraction to Malfoy, and decided that Dumbledore's understanding was due mostly to his usual omniscience. Harry's eyes now stared blankly at the fog that now frosted the windows from his breath. Somehow he must find a way to quell the loneliness that even now he felt growing inside him. He knew that Voldemort drew power from his own loneliness, and that it was this synchronization of emotion that had allowed the Dark Lord to take hold of his mind so completely. Harry needed to rid himself of the solitary monster inside him, he must either satisfy its desire, or squash it out of existence.

The tall, lanky brunette opened the window, and stood as the cool night air rushed passed him into the room. He felt as though he stood on the very highest peak of the world, alone against the sublime and impassive winds that whipped and lashed at the crust of this earth. He felt the rocky precipice beneath his feet, and held his head high in the misty air, breathing in the harsh scent of his destiny. He was Harry Potter, the chosen one who was to defeat the Dark Lord

Voldemort or forfeit his life. He had not the time or luxury to worry about fickle things like love and loneliness. He must become the very mountain on which he stood, hard and solid as the foundations of the earth. Harry opened his eyes and looked stoically out into the darkness, feeling empty, but intentionally so. Not even the muggles arguing at the bus station a few blocks away drew his attention. They were as dust in the wind.

Harry had made a choice. He was not going to defeat the Dark Lord by being the susceptible youth that had been the death of his god father, and watched in mute horror as Dumbledore's attempted assassination played out before his very eyes. He had no room in his body for the emotions of mortal men. He must raise himself above worldly concerns and become the instrument of fate. He closed his eyes, and let the wind wash over him, carrying with it the smell of rain and the sound of muffled voices that Harry could not quite make out.

Draco stood on the little porch that overlooked the muggle street below, leaning onto the railing as he felt the wind run through his hair. People were often complaining now of the mist caused by the breeding dementors, but Draco had always been partial to the austere. He felt somehow calmed by the silence and intimacy that clouds, rain, and fog always created. He let his thoughts decompress into the cool breeze that bore the sweet smell of rain. His eyes already tinged red, began to sting with the familiar feeling of tears. The first fell slowly down his cheek as he felt again the horrible crushing loneliness that had been a part of Harry's memory. He tasted the salty tear and closed his eyes, crying freely now. Never had he imagined a loneliness that could match his own, much less one that would surpass it immeasurably. For those brief moments in the pensive, Draco felt drowned in a pain that stretched into the infinite. It was as if his mind had been lost in a dark space that expanded in all directions forever. His little worries over the shame of his father, and his inability to be an authentic being were like grains of sand next to the colossal mass that threatened to obliterate Harry from inside and out. Draco let these thoughts consume him as he felt the first cool drops of rain against his face. He smiled up into the sky, tasting the rain and tears on his lips, inhaling the raw power of the storm that was fast approaching.

How long he stood their, Draco did not know, but soon he felt the presence of the headmaster behind him, standing in the open door way. He looked over his shoulder at Dumbledore, his wet hair now clinging to his face, and called back, "He will take it upon himself then? Try to shoulder this massive fate alone?"

The head master merely nodded and said with a wave of his hand, "He needs you more than he knows, Malfoy. He is forgetting the power of friendship, of love." Then he turned and vanished into the darkness of the house.

Malfoy replied simply, "I know, sir." And turned back to face the rain, feeling the world cry through him and wash away his weakness. It had taken him eighteen years to learn that love and companionship were the only things worth living for in this world, and he was not going to let Harry feel alone as he once had. He was going to remind Potter of the power that lay in the bonds between, no matter how tenuous and taut they may sometimes be.

For several more minutes Draco stood in what became a torrential downpour, letting the wind and rain soak him bodily. When finally he began to shiver, he returned to the house and walked slowly but determinedly back to the room. The stillness of the now dark house felt like an inky dream.

He opened the door with great silence, and was immediately awed by what he saw and felt in the room beyond. The air seemed to tingle and vibrate, Harry stood by the window, with his hands clasped behind his back and his legs planted firmly beneath him. He faced the open window with a power that took Draco's breath away. Reminding himself that this power was merely a facade, a mask for the pain that Harry was truly feeling in a deep dark part of himself, Malfoy stepped stridently into the room.

He moved to Harry with barely a creak, but Harry seemed to notice, as he was not surprised when Malfoy reached past him to close the window. At once the howling rain and torrents of noise became a soft patter; the warmth of the house drew around them once more.

"No matter what Potter, you will never be alone." He whispered this quietly into Potter ear, and was overcome with satisfaction when he saw Harry bite his bottom lip as Malfoy's words washed over him.

Much to Draco's disappointment, however, Harry was back to staring out the window by the time he had reached his bed. Draco made a very slow and noisy show of taking off his robes, to no avail. He stood in the muted light that came in from the storm outside, waiting, watching Harry for any sign that he was fighting a battle of desires within himself. Draco was sure that Harry had feelings for him, positive or negative he was not sure. But there was no denying it, given the brief moments they had spent gazing into the depths of each other's eyes. He instinctively reached his hand up towards his hair, reliving the moment when Harry had pulled so gently at it.

Resigning himself to the fact that Harry was going to remain stoic, at least for tonight, Draco got into bed. He slid under the covers quickly, refraining from making the little moaning noises he had planned on. Instead he sighed heavily and rolled over. It was hard for him to resist the temptation to look back at Harry, to see if the tingles he thought he was feeling on his backside were from Harry's staring or just his imagination.

Because of this curiosity, mere minutes seemed to stretch into hours as he lay in the darkness, waiting for Harry to do something, anything that would reveal his emotions. But he could hardly hear Harry breathing, and Draco soon lost focus, lulled into sleepiness by the gentle hum of the storm outside, and the heavy, still air of the house. He turned onto his back, laying his arms on the cool outside of his comforter. He sank into his pillow, utterly exhausted by the days events. A lot had happened considering that they had gotten up in the middle of the afternoon.

The slightest noise from Harry caused Malfoy to turn his head on his pillow, peering lazily out of his sleepy eyes at Harry as he began to undress. Draco's mind stirred lazily as Harry dropped his robes to hang over his arms, exposing the smooth skin of his back. The blond felt slightly ashamed to feel so hungry for this sight, but was honestly too tired to really care at this point. It felt as if someone was massaging the nape of his neck, and pulling heavily on his eye lids. He felt warm and cozy, and clung to consciousness with extreme effort, feeling himself blur and stretch into the realm of subconscious. For a brief moment he saw the bare body that lay under the robes, and heard them softly fall to the floor.

Harry was quietly trying to erase the feeling that Malfoy had conjured within him. Silently he raged over how easily the mere sound of Draco's voice had broken so completely through the barriers of cold unfeeling stone he had arranged about his mind. Minutes ago he had been sure that he could face the world alone atop the mountain, but his feelings had betrayed him. They lifted him up and bore him on a sweet breeze, a breeze laced with the smell of the blond beauty that lay in the darkness behind him. For a brief moment he had floated high above the world, light as the clouds thats flew past his mind. Angry now, at his weakness, he vowed to resist his attraction Malfoy, it was a flaw that was crippling and dangerous. He could not afford to have such attachments, not with the task that lay before him.

Harry faced the window in the darkness, nude save for his undergarments. He felt slightly cold, but enjoyed the feeling, it was consistent with his mood. He felt a pang of hunger, having not eaten all day, but also enjoyed this feeling. Staring out into the inky blackness that had consumed the sky, he felt his suffering was justified. It made him feel somehow more serious and determined; as if he was training for the great suffering that he felt creeping in around him, stalking him in the shadows, waiting for its chance. He had been a child for too long now, and it seemed to him utterly stupid to have been so overcome by a useless emotion like loneliness.

The smallest part of him called out from its dark corner, attempting to envelope him in the warmth and light that was companionship. But he banished it from his mind, reminding himself that he could not defeat the Dark Lord with love and friendship.

He lay himself on the bed, his legs straight and his arms at his sides. He lay there on top of the sheets in the gathering darkness, feeling the cold against his body. Slowly his mind drifted away from the bare exposed skin, and he fell heavily into his dreams.


	5. Rosemary

A/N: I do hope I am not disappointing at all with this story, it is a pleasure to write. Please don't be turned off by the pacing, I promise it will be worth it in the end.

Please review! it keeps the fire going!

-oooo-

Harry woke sometime later to the soft tap of Hedwig's beak against the glass. He rose groggily and let her in, feeling the cool morning breeze against his bare skin and shivering. He sat back down on the bed feeling his morning wood strain against his boxer briefs, and was suddenly overcome with the embarrassing idea that Malfoy could have woken up at any point to see him laying there. He felt exposed, and ducked under the covers to read Ron's return letter.

As he unrolled the letter, the thoughts from the previous night came back to him from a great distance. He explored the way he felt now, warm and cozy under the blankets, still flustered from his potential exhibition. It felt so much more natural than the cold harsh ideas that had seemed so right in the gathering darkness. Now, bathing in the pale light of the morning sun, Harry's stoicism seemed foreign and overblown. He lay the letter down, and sighed back into his pillow, feeling torn and confused.

Feeling the soft cotton of his sheets, Harry lamented the dichotomy that had sprung up inside. He felt warm and safe nestled here in the sunlight, a letter from his best friend in hand, and the lithe blond lying only feet from him. But he knew that when he stood alone against the Dark Lord in the misty wet blackness that Harry knew would be the final moment of their confrontation, he could not take these things with him. He would be naked before the power of darkness. He felt again the fear that had gripped him in the cemetery so long ago as Cedric died before his eyes. He had been protected by love that time, but that was all love could ever do. Protect and save him by the merest shred of luck. He would never defeat Voldemort by hiding weakly behind the shields of others. He must gather his own power.

But even as he thought this, Harry knew that he did not truly feel this way. Though he was fearful, and saying these things now, it would not be this way as he went about his day. It just wasn't who he was, who he had always been. And in a sudden realization, he knew also that his ideas were at complete odds with the very foundations Dumbledore had laid out before him in their time together. He knew the headmaster would chastise him for rejecting the power of love, but felt uncomfortable seeking the headmaster's counsel.

Harry curled himself into a ball, thinking and feeling like he was hiding some great secret. His thoughts had tread across a great taboo that had built up inside him, but he was sure that he would never find love fill the lonely void in his chest, and so his only option was to erase its existence. The new Malfoy was an unknown quantity, a newcomer to Harry's psychological drama. Harry knew Draco could fill the emptiness inside of him, but he was also someone who would never, ever, be close to Harry that way. Indeed he had been startled by Draco's friendliness, but this was surely just an attempt to make up for years of hatred. They were exploring the friendship they never had, but it was purely platonic. It had to be.

He looked over at the sleeping Malfoy, who lay with a smile on his face, his hair golden in the rising sunlight. Even as he realized how beautiful Malfoy was, it was impossible to forget what he had once done, what he had once tried to do. Even before he had been forced to join the Dark Lord, he had been a snide little prat. Certainly the new Malfoy was an improvement, but Harry could not believe his character had changed entirely. Sure, maybe Harry could appreciate his beauty now that he wasn't potentially homicidal, but he did not think he could ever love Malfoy. And to satiate his loneliness it would take more than simple infatuation. He would need not only the passion and desire, but the certainty and commitment of real love.

A loud gurgling noise erupted from his stomach, and he felt the slow rumbling feeling, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for more than a day. Suddenly he felt a mouth watering craving for food that eclipsed his other thoughts. Rising from bed, he quickly donned his robes and strode from the room, letter still in hand.

As he passed into the kitchen he was nearly overcome by the absolutely delicious smell of bacon. This was immediately followed by subtle undertones of eggs and fresh biscuits. His hunger threatened to kill him; his stomach was practically clawing its way out of his body to get at the food that he now saw laid simply around the table in some of his godfather's old dishes. Narcissa sat at the far end of the table, reading the daily prophet by the golden light that was filtering through the sky lights.

"Draco still sleeping?" she said as she saw Harry enter the room.

"Uh, yes….ma'am" replied Harry awkwardly as he slipped into a chair. He noticed four place settings, two of which already had the look of being used. One was in front of Narcissa, the other right beside her.

He must have given it a quizzical look, for Narcissa then said, "Dumbledore, he left just a few minutes ago."

"Does he stay here, in this house?" Harry had never really considered where Dumbledore spent his holidays, and wondered if he stayed here now, to protect Harry and the Malfoys.

"Yes, though I don't expect he will be back until dinner. Help yourself Harry, I'm sure you must be starving." Harry's stomach gave another, undignified growl, and she laughed, turning back to the Prophet.

The bacon was cooked perfectly, and the scrambled eggs were slightly browned on some parts, which Harry had always loved. But by far the best part of the meal was the biscuits, he peeled away the layers of doughy goodness and savored their soft milky taste. Once he had finally sated the raging beast of hunger within, he leaned back in his chair, now at a loss for words. He had never been alone in the room with Narcissa and was very uncomfortable with the silence between them.

After a few agonizing moments, she seemed to realize that he had stopped eating and folded the paper, looking across the table at him. She paused, and seemed to be trying to formulate a very difficult sentence. "I want to thank you Potter, for - for saving him." She clasped her hands and looked sincerely at him. A lock of her blond hair fell out of her bun, and she hastened to redo it, as Harry sat in stunned silence. He could remember not killing Draco, but he hardly thought that counted as saving.

"I-he-I, what?" he said, noticing that the Malfoys were developing the uncanny ability to reduce him to unintelligible stuttering of late.

She seemed taken aback by his confusion and stopped midway through tying up her bun, "He hasn't- You don't- Well then, I'll start on the dishes." She quickly summoned the plates she and Dumbledore had used, and left for the kitchen faster than was necessary, her long blond hair now trailing about her shoulders.

Harry sat in the warm light of the morning, wondering what in the hell he had done to save Malfoy's life, when he heard the swinging door open behind him. He heard a pause in the footsteps before Malfoy made his way around the table, to sit at the only seat left with a fresh place setting. He did not look at Harry as he began to pile food onto his plate. For this Harry was grateful, for though he chuckled at how Malfoy's appetite equaled his own, his mind was still reeling and he was not ready to speak yet. He was racing through every encounter he had had with Malfoy in the past year, trying to find the moment of which Narcissa had spoken.

Silence passed in minutes as Malfoy ate and Harry sat brooding, eventually helping himself to another biscuit. Eventually he gave up, deciding he would ask her about it next time they were alone, and instead focused on the problem of the private lessons he knew they were supposed to continue after breakfast.

The blond ate ravenously at first, but then slowed down considerably in what Harry knew was an attempt to prolong the whole affair. When finally he finished, he laid down his napkin and clasped his hands. Harry was looking down at his plate, and could only see Draco's hands as he began to speak.

"Good news Potter, Dumbledore told me not to start with the occlumency until tomorrow, you'll have time to hide all those dirty secrets." his voice was calm and even, but Harry knew better, he had watched Draco fidget nervously with his fingers.

Draco noticed Potter staring when he didn't respond. He quickly withdrew his hands, placing them under the table. Harry merely continued staring into the folds of Draco's robes, which had replaced the view of his hands. Draco cleared his throat loudly, in an attempt to startle the blue eyed wonder that sat before him. It was odd now, how he could admire the way the soft morning light diffused over his features, while being simultaneously annoyed at his stupidity. The great bull headed fool that lived behind those glasses and deep blue eyes was utterly infuriating.

"Not that there is much to hide, in that empty head of yours I suppose." he added, attempting to get Harry's attention with his usual snide comments. Potter merely frowned, and stood up from the table. He left quietly, leaving a seething Malfoy behind him.

Harry wandered the house for a bit, before eventually giving into the fact that he was inevitably going to end up in the drawing room. He sat himself in the most uncomfortable chair in the room, a chair was still comfortable by any standard, given that Dumbledore had been its creator. Sullenly, he pulled out Ron's letter and began to read. Ron suggested that he was giving Malfoy a little too much credit, and that he could not possibly have changed as much as Harry had indicated in his last letter. Yes, Harry had been full of foolish optimism yesterday, and he was glad that his true friends were there to keep him honest. Feeling slightly happier, he rummaged around in one of the cabinets and managed to find some old yellowed parchment, and some writing materials. He chuckled as he held the long peacock feather quill in his hand, it was large and unwieldily and he very much doubted it had belonged to Sirius.

Slowly and awkwardly he penned a response to Ron, thanking him for being rational and not letting Harry get caught up in his naïvité, and was careful not to mention that fact that he had been grappling with a strong physical attraction to Malfoy. He felt that now that he was going to but that behind him, it would be better if Ron never knew. He also pulled out another sheet to write a letter to Hermione, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't written to her in quite a long time. Though he knew that she and Ron were communicating daily, perhaps more, Hermione was like to get a little miffed if she didn't hear from him soon.

As he left the room on his was up to give Hedwig the letter, he saw Malfoy shrink back into a corner, hastily pretending to look at one of the cabinets filled with some of the Blacks old trinkets. Harry focused on his desire to send his letters, forcing it to distract him from his urge to look at Malfoy. He had always noticed Malfoy, but never before had he been so captivating as in the past few days.

Hedwig hooted dolefully as he entered the room, and Harry often thought that summer must be her favorite time of year, for she often had little to do once the term started. As he watched her fly out into the sunny morning, he was oddly at peace. His problems felt very far away, quietly waiting in the back of his mind. He felt that as long as he watched the rhythmic flap of Hedwig's wings recede slowly into the light of the sun, he could hold his troubles at bay.

Harry held this mental state all the way down the stairs and into the drawing room, where Malfoy had dragged a chair over to the window, and sat staring out onto a gloomy, misty morning. As Harry approached his calm spread slowly out into the scene, slowly subverting the swirling wisps. Malfoy's gloom seemed to grow more agitated when he noticed Harry's presence, and somehow Harry was pleased that his standoffishness was having an effect on the boy who had so long been impervious.

Their lesson was less successful than the last time, due in no small part to Harry's rather dissociated attitude, and Malfoy's own reserved and sullen attempts at producing a Patronus. It was therefore the case that after less than an hour, Malfoy gave up in a huff and walked out of the room, leaving a quietly content Harry behind him. Potter was not quite sure when his attempts at ignoring Malfoy had changed into attempts to piss him off, but either way it kept them apart. And that is what Harry needed, no matter how much the small quiet part of him called out for the opposite.

He sank into the less-comfortable chair once again, and sighed in relief. It had been a terrible test of his will to keep his attraction to Malfoy in check. He had long been obsessed with Draco, but never in a positive way. What had started as curiosity and guilt the night Malfoy had apologized to him a few short months ago, had quickly blossomed into a strong physical attraction. He knew that if he did not separate himself now, an emotional attachment was sure to follow, one that he knew would not be reciprocated by Malfoy.

He inhaled deeply, trying to focus his mind and keep images of Malfoy's bare skin, and the remembrance of his presence so close beside him in the bath, from invading his consciousness. Inevitably he caught flashes of them, and felt a slight tightness grow in his chest. But then he was back to staring out the window, using the various passing muggles and chirping birds to distract him from his own thoughts. How lucky they were, the mother and daughter happily walking hand and hand down the sidewalk. He watched the little girl bend to pick something up of the ground, and smiled as the mother turned to scoop her up before she had a chance to touch whatever it was. They walked away with their heads close together, and they would never know how much danger they were in at this very moment. Their way of life hung with utmost fragility upon Harry's fate. If he should fail the boundary between the magical and muggle worlds would vanish in an instant. Harry shuddered at the thought of the terror that would be unleashed upon the world, and dark clouds began to gather in the corners of the long windows. It seemed Harry could not find solace in anything these days. He was either suffering under his desperation for companionship, or stewing in despairing thoughts of the war against Lord Voldemort.

-oooo-

Malfoy slammed the door of their bedroom, and sank against the dark wood until he rested on the floor. He looked at his wand with contempt as it shone in the patch of light from the window. Though he knew it was his fault the lesson had gone so badly he needed something else to blame. He would've blamed Harry but it was not necessarily his fault that Draco was torturing himself by stealing glances at Harry's features. Unlike yesterday Harry did not seem to notice these little looks, and remained as stoic as he had during the night. This frustrated Draco to no end, and this in turn frustrated him further. Why was it so hard to accept that Harry was just going to stubbornly reject his attempts at friendship. He thought of the time so many years ago, when Harry had first rejected his friendship. He remembered his haughty indignation, and was disgusted with his eleven year old self. Even at a young age he had been a bigoted prat; Harry was not to blame for their icy relationship. But he had changed now, he had forsaken all that he once was. He clutched his wand and resolved to show Harry that his new character was permanent. He would show Harry that any relationship that formed between them would be a lasting one. He was not out to distract Harry from his fate, he would be there to stand with him until the end.

Harry had once shown him the power of friendship, albeit unknowingly, and now it was Malfoy's chance to return the favor. But he would have to be cunning, Harry was in no mood for friendship at the moment.

The two boys wiled away the rest of the morning on various inconsequential tasks, taking care not to run into each other. If he heard footsteps coming Malfoy would quickly step into the nearest room and wait for Harry to pass. This unfortunately led to a run in with Kreacher, who eyed him moodily, muttering darkly about blood traitors and mudbloods. He thought of all the times he had called Hermione a mudblood in front of Harry, and mentally punched himself for being such an arse. He knew he would still be more than a little peeved at her know it all behavior, but never would he call her that again. He smiled as he imagined the shock on her face when he greeted her cordially the next time they met. Draco then realized that he would have to be extra cautious around Granger; her powers of observation were second only to Dumbledore, and he knew she would be on full alert, searching for reasons to split them up. He scoffed at himself for momentarily forgetting that Harry was being a complete fool, and that they had nothing to split up in the first place. Six years of loathing, followed by one awkward bath could not be called a friendship.

Draco let out a great sigh as he heaved open the heavy door and stepped out into the hallway, where he nearly ran straight into his mother.

"Ah, there you are dear. Come, its nearly time for lunch, and you and I need to have a little chat." She took his shoulder and led him down the stairs into the kitchen.

Shaking her off and sitting gruffly into a chair, Malfoy said, "What's this about then, mother." Though he knew full well what it was about.

She let his tone blow over her without a reaction, and said with quiet annunciation, looking him straight in the eye, "Potter."

Draco slammed his fist unintentionally on the table, causing them both to jump.

She leaned closer to him, "You haven't told him. You need to tell him. He deserves to know, and besides it might...you know, get you closer." she finished awkwardly, realizing that she had treaded into an area of the conversation she did not want to explore.

"Oh yes!" said Malfoy with a grand waving of his hand, "Hi Potter, good to see you, how's mum? Oh, dead, right….. Well I just thought you ought to know that I admire your strength and all, facing the Dark Lord without so much as a haircut. It's changed me you know, helped me turn from the darkness." Draco paused and drew in a breath as he rose from the table. "Yeah, I reckon that will go over well."

"You sit back down this instant Draco Malfoy, that boy saved you from yourself, and your honor as a Malfoy compels you to at least thank him, if nothing else."

He rounded on his mother, and spat back at her in barely more than a whisper, "My honor? All I have ever done is wretch and defile myself before the glory of our name. It's all I have ever done. For you- you and that sniveling oaf who called himself my father."

It was as if he had struck her, she hung her head and leaned into her hands, and Malfoy knew that he had gone too far. Before the wave of guilt could crest over his head, he was beside her, holding her by the shoulder's and telling her that he did not mean it.

"I - I will tell him mother, I promise, next time I get the chance. Potter will know everything."

"Tell me what?" said an icy voice from the doorway. Malfoy froze, and he felt his stomach fall through the floor and into the basement. Malfoy closed his mouth and frowned at Harry, who looked back expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Mother to the rescue. "Harry, wonderful that you could join us, I was just about to send Draco up to let you know-", and she said this word with particular emphasis, "-that lunch will be ready soon." She rose and glided into the kitchen glancing briefly into the eyes of her son.

He had expected his mother to let their little awkward moment play out until Harry eventually forced the truth from him with those piercing green eyes. But apparently Draco's little guilt trip had stung worse than he had thought, though he doubted even Goyle would be fooled by her little cover up. He sank into his mother's seat, and gave Potter a look that dared him to ask again.

Draco was surprised to see that Harry was a bit taken aback by his aggressive behavior. Though he knew it did nothing to show Harry that he was a new Malfoy, he enjoyed the fact that he could get at least some reaction out of the boy. All too soon Harry had resumed his impassive air, and was staring quite willfully out of the window at the little garden. Dumbledore had conjured the magical yard in what Draco assumed ought to be right in the middle of the neighbor's living room.

Initially He felt the tension grow between them once more, but Harry moved his head ever so slightly, and his lips caught the light as they never had before. How Draco had ever missed the sight of their beauty he was not sure, they were such a sincere shade of red that Malfoy's imagination went into overdrive. He saw himself kissing and nipping at those beautiful soft lips, and would have closed his eyes for the pleasure of his thoughts, but that would mean losing sight of Potter, and he need to keep this image in his mind forever. He thought of the way Potter had looked at him in the bath and the combined beauty made his chest clench in an almost painful manner. Draco bit his lower lip, and forced himself to breath, surprised at how powerfully he was attracted to Potter.

His years of loathing, it seemed, had blinded him to Potter's grace and beauty, and now that the veil had fallen away he was beginning to see the boy with virgin eyes. He let his eyes wander over the smooth skin of Harry's face, imagining what I might taste like, and how much he wanted to leap across the table and caress it with his tongue. Harry placed his chin in his palm and looked sideways at Draco with confusion. It was so fucking cute that Malfoy nearly gasped; soon he felt heat rise in his cheeks and cursed his blushing. For the merest fraction of a second Malfoy saw Harry's eyes full of an intense emotion, but before he could identify it, Harry was back behind the facade.

There was no tension between them now, only a large empty void that meant their friendship was over. Perhaps Harry still had some lingering emotions about Malfoy, but last night's encounter with Voldemort had scarred Potter. Malfoy knew he would react the same way, attempting to cut himself off from all things that could be a weakness in anticipation for some great and terrible task. He knew how it was, he himself had done it. It made it all that much harder to resist leaping across the table at Potter, to embrace him and tell him all these things in slow romantic whispers.

Draco needed to find a way back into Harry's mind, but he had never had to charm anyone this way before. He was used to people falling at his feet, or using his father's sway to get what he wanted. As much as he relished a challenge, he realized that he would need help in this endeavor. He did not feel comfortable sharing this with either Dumbledore, nor his mother, and spent the better part of ten minutes trying to find someone who could help him. And then it struck him, help would not come from one of his friends, but from one of Harry's.

And who knew Harry better than that bushy haired witch, Granger. Seizing upon the idea, he summoned parchment and his writing instruments taking extra care not to let them zoom by too close to Harry. He had tried breaking the tension with his usual snide manner, but that hadn't seemed to work, so he was trying his very best to be as accommodating and genuine as possible.

He played with his lips using the tip of his quill as he paused, thinking how best to begin. Dipping his quill into the emerald green ink, he began writing to Hermione in his beautifully slanted handwriting. He had spent long hours as a child perfecting his script, and he was glad to think that it would perhaps garner him a little respect with the Granger girl.

He began by telling her flat out that Harry was well on his way to making the same mistakes he had during their last year at hogwarts. He told her of the events of last night, and Dumbledore's warning, being careful not to insinuate in anyway that he had feelings for Potter that went beyond a platonic concern. He knew she would already be suspicious given the fact that he had the audacity to send him a letter, given their past. As a side note, he added an apology for his past behavior, noting that it didn't mean much, but he hoped she would consider giving him a second chance of sorts.

He let the letter lay exposed as he was writing it, daring and half hoping Harry could see who he was writing too. But Harry was busy smoothing out the table cloth, and was doing his very best to ignore Draco completely. But this was good, if it wasn't hard for Harry to distract himself, Draco had not a chance in the world.

Malfoy rolled up the letter and walked casually around the table, flashing the name in Harry's direction with purpose. But Harry did not look up, so Malfoy picked up his pace and soon found his mother's room, where the family owl sat perched by the window. He hooted happily when it saw him and stretched out a talon to accept his letter. Draco did not linger to watch the tawny owl fly off into the distance, he returned to the dinning room with haste, hoping to return before his mother came out with the food.

But he needn't have worried, it seemed she had lied about lunch being almost ready, perhaps in an attempt to force Harry and him to sit together, as if they needed more time alone. Malfoy passed the time by looking out onto the garden, which looked cool and wet now that yesterday's clouds had returned. The colors of the red and purple flowers looked deeper in the over cast light, as did the overgrowth of green that suffused the small space.

He closed his eyes and thought of the many days he had spent lying on the damp earthy lawn and hiding in the garden that surrounded their manor. He could see his young self squeezing through the small door into the secret personal garden that he held all of his favorite flowers and trees. He thought of how many months it had taken to convince Dobby to build the garden, and smiled. Neither of his parents knew about it, and it was probably the only reason he was at least partially sane at this point.

Whenever he had felt alone, or was entertaining thoughts that his parents would disapprove of, he would sneak into the garden to be at peace with his thoughts, wandering among the iris and wildflowers that populated the space. And with a slight tingle in his nether region, he thought of all the times he had deviously pleasured himself sitting under the old willow tree that thrust its gnarly roots into the pond.

Given all that had happened recently it had been more than a month since he'd masturbated, and he was surprised that wasn't horny and desperate. Then he turned, looking at Potter, and for the first time, felt a sexual desire for the boy that went beyond mere appreciation of his beauty.

He felt hot and winded as he turned back to the window, electric waves running through his body, overcome with the desire for release. He was not necessarily Potter that got him so flustered, it was just his body's pent up sexual energy. At least that's what Draco managed to convince himself as he sucked on his bottom lip and resisted the urge to sprint to the bedroom for a quick, furious wank.

He walked over to the mantle, willing himself to investigate the carved marble lions in an attempt to move on from his sexual thoughts. But even as he admired their craftsmanship, another part of his mind was still mulling over his sexual lack. He tried to remember the last time that he had even enjoyed touching himself but could not. He had spent the entirety of the last year merely using masturbation to help him fall asleep. He'd had neither the time nor the energy to actually do it properly, rarely having an actual climax.

Soon the smell of his mother's wonderful cooking wafted through the curtain that divided the kitchen from the dinning room, and Narcissa stepped slowly into the room with a smile on her face, she was quickly followed by trays of grilled cheese and a small cauldron of tomato soup.

For a moment he caught Harry smiling, and expression that quickly vanished when he met malfoys eyes. Draco barely suppressed a giggle as he sat down and began ladling soup into his bowl.

"Looks delicious mother, thank you for taking so much time to make us lunch." He put extra emphasis on the words 'so much time' and shot his mother a dark look.

She merely waved a dismissive hand and passed the tray of sandwiches to Harry. The soup was delicious as usual, a little spicy, just the way Draco had always liked. He looked over at the raven haired brunette and saw Harry's face pass from surprise to enjoyment as he had his first taste of the soup. This time Malfoy could not keep himself from giggling, earning a sour look from Harry.

The blond half chastised himself for being his usual snarky self, but most of his thoughts were quickly erased when he saw Harry's tongue dart out of his mouth to get at some tomato soup that had spilled off his spoon. He felt it dribble down his own chin, as he watched Harry, transfixed.

Lunch finished in silence, and soon the two boys were once again aimlessly going about the day, trying very hard to avoid each other. Draco paced about their room, reviewing his old spell books in an attempt to distract himself. Originally he'd thought of finishing up what he'd started in his head before lunch, but he had barely begun to let his hand wander slowly downwards when Harry burst into the room.

Mafloy had instantly pretended to be sleeping, rolling over and stretching for good measure. Harry sat himself gruffly on the window seat and waited nearly a half hour for hedwig to appear with two letter's clutched in her talons.

All the while Draco had lain with his back to Harry, quietly harboring a raging erection, and trying desperately to resist the desire to relieve the tension that had over taken his body. Finally he had heard the latch open, and was startled to hear Harry call his name.

"Draco, its your owl." Sure enough, he heard the soft hoot of his eagle owl and rolled over immediately to accept the letter. Only minutes later did her realize that he'd woken up far to fast for Harry to believe he'd been sleeping. Eventually hedwig did arrive, and as Draco had predicted, he left the room immediately.

The letter from Hermione made no attempt to hide her surprise at his correspondence.

_Dear Malfoy, _

_It's not everyday I receive a letter from someone who has so long been my enemy. I need hardly say that this is the last thing I expected from you, though I must say that it is a pleasant surprise indeed. I had my suspicions when you came to apologize in the hospital wing, and hearing your concern for Harry is very comforting. Keep this up and I may even believe that you have changed, though it will take a lot more for me to forgive you. I'll give you this one chance, as per your request, but know that I will hold you responsible if any harm comes to Harry during the course of your friendship._

_It scares me to think Harry was so lonely, we've known about it for along time, but I had no idea it was getting so bad. It seems to me he is looking for something beyond friendship, something we cannot give him. He is looking for love, Draco, though I assume you already know that. In any case, He's sent me a letter just now, and though he was very careful not to say anything to obvious, I can tell he is confused about how he feels about you. _

_I know it may seem like there is nothing else beyond the stoic shield he has erected, but he's done this before, and I know it is really just his way of asking for help. He is telling us that he needs support, even if he himself doesn't know it. Neither Ron, nor I can give him that right now, but so help me M]\erlin you can. And you better. _

_I will be hearing from you soon. _

_ - Hermione Granger _

Draco found himself quite incensed by Hermione's bossy tone, but soon got over it, figuring that this response was better than he'd hoped for. Not only had she given him a probationary acceptance of his apology, but she was actually encouraging him to be friends with Potter. And if he wasn't careful to let his hopes cloud his judgement, he could swear that she wanted them to be romantically involved. But that was impossible, the chance that Harry, the chosen boy who was the save the world from darkness, could not possibly be gay. And shit, even if he was, Malfoy was the last person on earth he would fall for. But just what did she mean when he said he probably already knew Potter needed love.

He hastily began writing her a reply letter, all the while the family owl stood over him, hooting curiously. It was probably unused to seeing him so flustered, and he chuckled at its expression.

_Dear Granger, _

_It's not everyday I expect to have my apology accepted by someone with our kind of past, though I suppose maybe its only Slytherins who have these kind of hang ups. I mean, for Merlin's sake it took me over a month to apologize to Harry for the things I have done. Speaking of which, did you know he actually apologized to me the other night? _

_Yes, certainly he has been a nicer to me than I expected, we have certainly had interactions that I never would have dreamed of in a million years, but Voldemort has scared him Granger. You didn't see him last night. He thinks he is alone against the world, but he wants it this way. There is no way I can break through to him, we aren't even supposed to be friends. And there is no way we can ever be more than that, if that's what you were insinuating. _

_I don't know what you want me to do, all he does is shove me away. Its a little infuriating if you must know. Speaking of infuriating, I do hope you aren't sharing this with that ginger, Granger. _

_ -Malfoy _

Draco repeated the phrase, ginger, Granger out loud, enjoying the challenge. He rolled up the letter and sealed it with his wand, making sure Granger would be the only one who would be able to open it.

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon much as he had the morning, waiting for Hermione's reply. Only this time to he took to sitting in the Black's Library. He was unsurprised when he couldn't find anything on the subject of love, nor its magic among the dark titles that the old family saw fit to keep. Perhaps less than a year ago he would have been over joyed to learn more about the dark arts, but as it was it only served to make him feel even more ashamed of who he had once been. How he had ever admired, and even aspired to be like the people in these books, like the people who wrote them, and the people who bought them. He had once been part of that dark subset of the wizarding world, and expected it to still have some pull over him but was pleasantly surprised that the only thing he felt was pity. Pity for the lost souls who had convinced themselves that they could find companionship and even love in the darkness. But he knew now, that the only thing one could find there was treachery and manipulation.

-ooooo-

Dinner was called as soon has Dumbledore returned from where ever he had gone, and eventually, with much searching on the part of Narcissa, both boys and the two adults had seated them around the long dark wood of the dinning room table. The chandelier cast a a soft light that did not quite penetrate the darkness in the corner's of the room. They ate in a silence that felt very close, with all of them sitting around this solitary source of light, and last night's storm returning with a vengeance outside. The rain spattered quietly on the windows, and the gentle clink of utensils was the only other sound to be heard.

As Draco moved to help himself to another helping of his mother's fabulous rosemary roast chicken he was overcome by a sense of peace that pervaded the room. He noted happily that even Harry seemed to be lost in the moment, he had just set down his glass and was smiling quietly.

After a few minutes it seemed that all were finished with the meal, and Dumbledore cleared his throat. Not that he really needed to, they had all been focused and waiting for him to speak for all most a minute. He set down his napkin and turned to Harry, "Are the lessons going well Harry? Its only been two days, but I do hope that we are making progress."

Harry tensed when he heard Dumbledore's question. It was not that Draco hadn't been making progress, indeed he was getting the hang of his far sooner that anyone save Hermione. But he felt guilty for ruining today's lesson by almost ignoring Malfoy.

"It's not his fault sir, I couldn't pay attention today. I was… distracted."As Harry turned to look at Draco in surprise he only just caught Draco stealing a glance at him.

He turned back to Dumbledore, and said in a rush, "No, he's wrong, today was a bit rough, I have to admit, but yesterday he made some real progress. He produced something on his first try, not even Hermione could do that." And thinking back to his own lessons with lupin, he added quietly, "Not even me."

Dumbledore gave him an appraising look, "Good to hear Harry, it warms this old heart to see you two getting along so well." Harry knew Dumbledore was aware of the tension between him and Malfoy, and this served only to accentuate his guilt. At this very moment he was harboring ideas that stood against everything that Dumbledore stood for, and this was the old man's way of calling him out.

"Might I ask what exactly was distracting you Malfoy? I do hope it wasn't the windows, I wondered whether or not that particular enchantment was really necessary." Said Dumbledore, turning to face Malfoy.

Harry noted the blush that was appearing on Malfoy's face with dismay. Even though he was supposed to keep himself from thinking about Malfoy, it was just so damn cute. It pained him to think that he would have to endure this internal battle for a full two months. He quickly implemented one of his coping strategies, and looked away from the boy. He was reciting the directions for a sleeping draft in his head, attempting to block out all other thought. Harry had almost made it through the list of ingredients before he finally heard Malfoy speak. If you could call it that, he was mostly just mimicking the sounds Harry had made the other day in the bath.

Draco was rescued by a sharp tap on the window, and he immediately leapt up to let in two birds who seemed to be competing to deliver their letters first. They swooped in showering the entire table with water, and landed in front of Harry and Draco, who had returned to his seat. Both boys accepted their letters hastily and unrolled them under the table. Dumbledore smiled, looking between them, it was obvious that they had received them from the same person, and Harry was more than a little miffed with Dumbledore's omniscience at this point.

He stowed Hermione's letter into his robes, not wanting Dumbledore to glean anything from Harry's body language as he read it. He was also peeved that the insolent blond had the audacity to send a letter to one of his best friends, and that she in turn had to audacity to send him one back. He was going to have to give her a stern talking to when they next met.

Draco unrolled the scroll hastily and strained his eyes to read it by the paltry light that reached the underside of the table.

_Dear Malfoy, _

_If you want proof that you two could potentially have a friendship, there it is. He apologized to you, I'm sure what he said in the hospital wing tormented him for weeks. No one has ever been able to get under his skin quite like you Malfoy, even talking about you he used to get all riled up. But after the hospital he would go quiet at the mention of your name, and start looking quite pensive. I knew immediately what this meant, he was reevaluating everything he thought about you, and if he eventually decided to apologize to you I need hardly say that he has given you a second chance. It is unfortunate that you should have to deal with one of his stoic phases so early in your relationship. I would have aparated right over but we have been forbidden, no doubt Dumbledore wants you two to work this out on your own. Its frustrating, but I suppose it will be for the better in the end. _

_As for what you should do, I feel a bit uncomfortable saying anything concrete, Harry can be so unpredictable sometimes. I would sit tight, try not to do anything to piss him off, and let Dumbledore bring him around. He always does in the end. This isn't the first time Harry's tried to put the world on his shoulders. _

_And if you must know, no, I am not sharing any of this with Ron, though I can see why you might assume that. I do hope that I don't have to ask you to keep this all between us. I'd rather Harry not know that I've told you all this, much less that I think about it in the first place. _

_ -Hermione Granger _

If anything, Malfoy thought that the way they tore each other up was proof that they could never be friends, and thought Hermione a bit incredulous to believe the opposite. Draco had never bought the bullshit parent's used to say about boys and girls using violence and teasing to tell each other their true feelings. It was just a sadistic way of preparing the youth of the world for the abusive relationships they would no doubt come to expect. Just another reason girls were stupid in his opinion, they were too easily manipulated, and some seemed to crave abuse.

Well most girls anyway, the thought of Hermione being submissive and servile not only seemed unrealistic, but made him queasy. Draco couldn't handle people who obeyed his every whim, he used to pretend that it fulfilled him, but that was the old him. That was his life as a sham. No, now Draco knew he needed someone strong, someone aggressive and confident. He need someone like - fuck. He shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath, attempting to control his desire. Hermione had only confirmed his suspicions, she really had no reason to expect them to be friends, she was just operating under some romantic and cliché expectation that enemies always made up in the end.

But Malfoy could see, that in the end, the shit had hit the fan.

He looked at Dumbledore, who was quietly sipping away at his after dinner coffee, looking quite content. He scowled. He trusted the old man more than he had ever trusted anyone, which was not really saying much given the fact that trust was a relatively new addition to his repertoire. Regardless he still could not believe that every one could have so much faith in the fact that he and Harry could settle their differences. But the fact still remained, Dumbledore had forbidden Harry's other friends to see him. It was clear the old man was very sure of himself and intended to resolve this issue, even if it meant manipulating them.

He sighed and accepted the cup his mother pushed his way. He didn't like being used, but he supposed the old man knew what was best, and he could get over his ego. Just this once.

"So, who's the letter from dear?" His mother's question snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned his eyes from the graceful curve of Harry's bottom lip to look at her.

"A girl." He said shortly. It was the truth, though he knew it wasn't the answer she wanted.

She gave a discontented 'hmm' and sat back in her set eyeing him curiously, but not prying any further. Clearly she was still feeling the after effects of Malfoy's guilt trip. Draco paid her no mind, and went back to starring at Potter, wondering if he could ever get over what a self righteous git the raven haired boy had a habit of being. And, with some embarrassment, he wondered if Harry could ever look past what a self righteous git he, Draco, was. He'd initiated almost every conflict they'd ever had, and while he had always just considered it part of the natural inter-house rivalry, no one else from the two houses seemed to bicker as much as he and Harry did.

He felt this strain of thought dip every so slightly into the pool that was Hermione's suggestion that they were perfect friend candidates, given that they already stimulated one another emotionally. But he quickly pulled it away, dismissing her claim as he had before.

He looked over at Harry, saw how his jaw was set, and noticed the hard look in his eyes.

Draco felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest as he was reminded of the night when Harry had stood over him in the frenzied darkness, only moments away from taking his life. Never in his life had he been looked at with such hatred. Harry's eyes had bored into him with a fury that surpassed even Voldemort in power. In an instant Draco had felt wreathed in fire, and was dried to the core by the uncontrolled rage that was Harry Potter.

No, they were not meant to be friends. There was darkness between them that loneliness and a few hormones could not dispel.

-oooo-

The time that passed between the owl's coming and going, and the final end of dinner seemed to pass in a second to Harry's dissociated mind. He spent the time staring mutely at the coffee that grew cold and untasted before him. Ordinarily it may have bothered him that Malfoy had also received at letter from Hermione, but he was back to dutifully reciting potion ingredients.

He was surprised by how little Dumbledore had said, and he wished the elder wizard would continue speaking so he could have something real and tangible to focus on instead of his nebulous thoughts, which were no where near effective. At the same time he knew that the longer Dumbledore talked, the longer he had until Dumbledore would know everything that he was thinking.

The thought hit him with an incredible wave of fear; Yesterday he had initially worried about Dumbledore knowing about his… feelings… for Malfoy, but now he was a traitor and in a few short moments Dumbledore would be privy to this deepest, darkest secret.

Only one thing kept Harry in his seat. Were it not for his social conditioning, which told him it was rude to stand up and leave in the middle of a meal, Harry would be gone by now. Not only would he have stood up, he would have flown out of the room and have been halfway to France by now.

He stretched and pulled at the napkin in his lap, all he could do to control the overwhelming desire to flee. His breath felt short and heavy; he gaped and felt a slow throb begin in his temples. He could no longer focus on anything aside from the sheer panic that now pervaded each and every fibre of his being. Gone was the facade of impossible logic he had used to convince himself that everything the old man had ever said was untrue, the panic had showed him that he had been denying all day. In a deep part of himself he knew that he was wrong, that was why he feared Dumbledore now, that was why he needed to escape.

Harry felt his legs tense, and it seemed as though his heart would leap out of his chest at any moment. He pushed up, but seemed to butt up against some invisible force. Shooting a furious look at Dumbledore, the old man merely raised his eyebrow and gave Harry a quizzical stare. Realizing in a fit of stupidity that it was merely his own trepidation that held him to the chair, he looked quickly down into his lap.

"Well I think if you will excuse us, Harry and I have some discussing to do." said Dumbledore cheerily, "It was wonderful as usual Narcissa." He rose and clasped Harry's shoulder with a light grip.

The crushing weight of the olds man's words seemed to solidify and double in size as he lay a hand on his shoulder. Harry's skin burned.

Numbly, he felt himself led up the stairs into the drawing room. He had always had mixed feelings about this room. He and his godfather had spent many of their greatest conversations in this room, but it also reminded him of the time when his godfather had been trapped in the house under Dumbledore's orders. Given the past couple of days, this was quickly becoming one of his most hated spaces. So intense was the emotional turmoil within him that it almost felt as if he was being forced out of his body by the boiling thoughts.

As he sat down into a chair, he felt the edges of his vision grow dark, and a numb pulsating prickle started in his toes and made him feel weak. Dumbledore sat across from him, and the silence was becoming more than unbearable to Harry. Any moment now he had to speak, he had to tell Dumbledore everything, it would be better he find out from Harry directly. He would not have a chance to justify his ideas if it the headmaster found out with legillimancy.

Now Dumbledore was saying something about the theory of the thing, how to calm the nerves and think about other, less dangerous topics as being the most enticing thing in the world, or pretending they were some great secret. But Harry could not hear Dumbledore's words, he merely watched the mouth move as if in slow motion underneath the neatly trimmed beard and moustache.

He was nearly about to pass out from the stress of knowing that Dumbledore would soon be more disappointed in Harry then ever before in their six long years. Certainly Harry had entertained some semblance of these thoughts before, but Dumbledore never knew of them directly.

"Are you ready then Harry?"Dumbledore drew out his wand, which was markedly different from his usual wand, but Harry took no notice.

No. No. No. No. No. "Yes" he breathed the words rather than said them, and looked up to meet Dumbledore's eyes. He looked Harry up and down appraisingly and Harry could tell that Dumbledore knew he was bodily against the whole affair. Never the less he flicked his wand, and Harry was immediately assaulted by the familiar feeling of the legillimens. There was also a flash of blue, that momentarily blinded him, but he was too distracted by Dumbledore's presence in his mind to truly take note.

It was gentler than snape's invasion, but the thoughts Harry was trying to hide practically leapt across the small space between them, the small quiet part of him that he had abused in the last 24 hours was eager to betray him. In a rush all of the past 48 hours of Harry's life lay before the head master. The look on the old man's face became instantly sober, and he gripped his wand with his good hand with a tightening grip.

In one nauseating moment Harry truly comprehended how entirely, thoroughly fucked he was. His consciousness exploded, and his autopilot took over, sending him from the room with inhuman speed. The next thing he knew he was standing outside the door to his bed room, grappling the door knob with clumsy hands. He leaned into the door and was met with an unexpected sound. The deep vibrating note reached into his body, and he froze, one sweaty hand on metal and the other clutching at his chest.

He felt himself rise and fall with the low mournful sound, being sucked into the emotions that were being laid bare across the strings of the cello as it keened in the room beyond. Battling against the wave of sound that now penetrated him to the core, Harry mustered what remained of his panic and used it to fuel his way into the room.

The air on the other side of the room seemed and dense and thick, and he could feel the vibrating air gush out of the tiny slit he had managed to open. Slowly the dark wood gave way to his intentions, and Harry made his way laboriously into the room. His eyes closed instinctively and he leaned his head back into the high swooning note that Draco had begun to play. The blond did not acknowledge Harry's presence, and continued playing the lament without missing a beat.

Harry's heart fluttered wildly as his eyes lay upon the handsome face and he felt tears well in the corner's of his eyes. He saw a small glisten running down the smooth white skin of Draco's cheek, and it was the most heartbreakingly beautiful gem Harry had ever seen.

The long note broke and Draco bent into the strokes, speeding the rhythm and grimacing, the emotion becoming more vigorous and bitter. Harry bit his lip and the strong dense friction rubbed bow against string and shook him to his very center. The blond paused, and breathed deeply. Unable to handle the emotional turmoil of the evening, Harry used this momentary freedom from the hypnotic and dejected noise to bring silence. He raised his wand and in one instinctive action he had struck Malfoy with a petrifying curse. The small whir of the spell struck Malfoy so fast that he had barely time to lock eyes with his assailant.

Almost.

Time seemed to crawl to a halt as Draco flew back out of his chair, his arm throwing the bow out in front of him. It stretched into infinitely torturous moments as steel gray eyes fixed on Harry with surprise that slowly faded into fear and sadness. In the last years spent gliding languidly through this span of time, Harry felt a thousand tinny cuts rip his heart asunder as he saw the look of betrayal that was now frozen on Malfoy's petrified face.

And as he turned and found himself instantly at the door, then out in the storm beyond, he knew; forever would that image be burned in the heartstrings that still shook with Malfoy's mournful melody.


	6. Sea Breeze

I probably shouldn't update so soon, but I really want to get this out. This is where the story really begins, and I really need your advice for next couple of chapters!

Also, incase anyone missed my update of chapter five's a/n, Draco was playing Bach's Cello Suite number 1. You can find it on youtube I'm sure.

-oooo-

The cello fell roughly on top of him, causing a sharp pain to persist just under his ribs. His breath came hitched, shaking an endless stream of tears from his eyes. He looked up at the plain ceiling and felt the hard wood beneath him, unable to truly comprehend what had happened. Potter had burst in the room while Draco had been lamenting the ruination of their friendship, and faster than he knew possible he was laying on his back. As his mind slowly went through the possibilities, sorting them out across the blank expanse of the ceiling, one in particular shone as particularly plausible.

He looked over at Harry's trunk that lay half open on the floor only inches from him. Harry was trying to flee from Dumbledore's judgement, and though Draco could sympathize in that regard (he had fled from the man many times before) he could not believe Potter had actually petrified him. It was unlikely that even had Potter run into the room and grabbed his trunk, Draco would have done anything to stop him.

Draco had been so wrapped up in his music that he would most certainly have sat in shock throughout the whole affair. And besides, Harry never got the trunk anyway, so that was definitely not the reason behind Harry's attack.

He sighed and tried to suppress the overwhelming need to move that always accompanied the times when he'd been placed in a body bind. He focused instead on replaying the moment again, searching for Harry's motive.

He saw Harry with his wand extended, a pained expression on his face, and something Draco had not noticed before. There was a glint in Harry's eyes, he had been crying.

A passion roared to life once more in his chest, filling his body with a flame so intense that every cell in his body seemed to be screaming out in agony. Carried on the tears that Harry had silently wept was proof that they were not over. They would never be over, not as long as they both had beating hearts in their chests. Never again could they bury the friendship that had lain dormant and tormented between them. It had grown strong in six years of darkness, and down to the very last fibre of his being Draco felt the need to hold Harry in his arms and shield him from the black beast that was loneliness.

Draco screamed silently in his mind, and felt the glass in the room bend and burst under the pressure of his passion and desire. He lay in darkness, fuming and fit to burst with anger and pity for the boy who could no longer see the light of love. Draco shook and vibrated against the magical bonds that held him, and soon the thick ropes of Harry's spell could be seen glowing and sparking as he fought to break free.

In a flurry the window flew open and the wet swept over the blond, stinging his face like so many needles. He watched the curtains swell and strain against the bonds that held them fast.

Suddenly what must be done became clear to him, and he extended himself beyond his tears and his worries. It felt as though the world held its breath as he twisted himself inside, the only desire filling his mind was to be through that dark window and out into the night. He had barely time to breath before he found himself in the air outside, falling from the spot where he had apparated outside the window. As he twisted his body that was becoming looser and freer within the bond, he saw, with a flash of lightning, the glint of Harry's glasses as he disappeared into the dense forest park that lined the street.

The dark wet and stony pavement flew at Draco's face, be he faced it without fear. Turning at the last second he disappeared again with a crack and found himself lying face down in the mud just beyond the edge of the trees. He felt the deep boom of thunder vibrate through him and was pressed ever deeper into the ground.

He called out to Harry, raising his head to scream, but felt his chin hit the ground again as the body bind reclaimed his pose. Wasting no time, he rolled over once more and willed his mind forward another twenty yards into the forest.

His glimpses of Harry were becoming fewer and far between as he followed him deeper and deeper into the forest. Each time he called out to him, the boy would hesitate only slightly in his step before disappearing again into the darkness. Draco's head was spinning and disoriented from the combined strain of apparating and the ever more frequent flashes of lighting. His vision blurred and pulsed before his eyes, as he leaned against a tree, having been able to imagine himself upright for the most recent apparition. His hair clung wet against his face, and he felt his mud soaked robes weigh heavily upon his shoulders. Desperately looking around him for any sign of his quarry, his eyes fell on snapped twig not far to the left, and looking beyond it he saw a dark shape kneeling on the ground in a clearing not 30 feet away. Draco summoned every ounce of friendship and love he had every known and poured it into the call that he sent forth to Harry. He felt the primal magic bellow forth from his lungs and rend the air as it careened toward Harry.

Just as it struck Harry square in the chest, causing him to spin and topple backwards onto the mud, Draco came flying out of the air, crashing into Harry and pushing them both onto the wet ground.

Draco could feel Harry shaking and trembling beneath him, his body hot and tense, riding out the effects of the spell. But Draco did not have time to think of how he was doing any of this, all he knew was that this was no time for conflicted feelings, trepidation over an unsure friendship, nor his own selfish fear of rejection. This was his one and only chance to show Harry that they could be something solid together.

He leant down and pressed his mouth close to Harry's ear. Harry's eyes were closed and red around the edges with tears. The sight of Potter weeping silently into the mud brought Malfoy himself to tears, but he bit them back and focused on telling him everything he needed to hear. But as he opened his mouth, the words did not come easily. The rain was like a crowd around them, each drop brushing against him roughly and cutting off whatever he was about to say. Thick locks of blond hair clung icily to his face and he tried to shake them off to no avail. He could hardly see now, and his chest clenched with an uncomfortable sort of claustrophobia.

"Potter- Potter listen." He took a deep breath, trying to figure out which one of them was still trembling. "Can you feel it? My heart? Yes, I know you can."

He pressed his chest against Harry's back, feeling it beat between them. "I have never once in my life listened to it. But now, because of you, I - I can no longer ignore it."

Somehow Harry's body bind had been released, or maybe it was just Draco's overwhelming emotions that allowed him ignore it, but he thrust his arm in front of Harry's face a pulled up his sleeve. "Do not make the same mistakes I did. You are to precious, for the world, for the future, for your friends, for m-."

Harry rolled over abruptly before Malfoy could finish, and was now standing above him, his wand pointed at Draco's chest. He felt the body bind renew itself, and his arms and legs snapped to his side as he looked up at the terrible beauty that was Harry Potter. A conflict of rage and comprehension played itself naked across his face.

"Good bye, Draco" He said these words, but Draco could not be sure he heard them, for at that moment a deafening boom tore through the air yet again, and as Draco reopened his eyes, Potter was gone. He was left crying silent tears into the rain soaked ground. Not even able to keen in mourning as perhaps the only true bond of friendship, or rivalry, or what ever it was now, stalked away into the darkness. Never before had anyone been able to get through to Malfoy in that way Harry James Potter had, and there would never be another.

Draco closed his eyes as seconds stretched into minutes and he lay savagely spent on the muddy floor of the forest. He let his mind wander freely, too exhausted to try to keep himself from any of the painful thoughts that now loomed darkly at the edge of his mind.

Soon he began to wonder if ever anyone was going to come find him, and after moments pause, he wished they never would. He would flee and disappear into the wilderness, Harry was going to face the dark lord alone, and they would all perish in the black storm that would follow Harry's sacrifice. It would end in vain, inevitably, and how could Draco ever face the world again, knowing he'd had a chance to save the boy who lived?

He visualized the dark hollow that he and Harry had once stumbled into during their detention in the Dark Forest. He remembered with sharp pain the moment he had reached out for Harry's hand in the darkness. He willed himself to be there, but his magic was weak and spent, and there was no hope of his disappearing into the wild to be eaten and maimed by the dark forces that waited there.

It was as he was distracted by these dark and terrible thoughts that the cold took him bit by bit. Suddenly without his realizing it, he could no longer feel his limbs and his breath came out in a fog. The rain seemed to have frozen on the ground and the trees and his hair. And has he gasped he felt a thin sheet of ice break on his lips. And then he heard them, their sickening sucking sounds and the squelching of their grimy skin as they glided over too him. A great withered hand reached out, and was soon followed a dark hooded head as the rain turned to snow in the very air in which it fell.

Three dementors now floated around him, their dark and tattered cloaks whipping silently about they as they swirled and sucked the life out of the cold and frail boy beneath them. As sharp as when it had happened, Malfoy felt again the searing pain that was Voldemort burning the Dark Mark into his skin. He felt the icy tip of the wand, and the cool voice that asked him if he still wished to continue. He felt again how every part of him had yearned to say no, his heart exploding with fear and rejection, and then he felt utter stupidity of his reply, the word yes hung in the air for eternity as the world exploded.

And now he was 11 years old and huddled in the corner of a dark room. Holding his arms where his father's cane had found its place, and weeping over his failure to befriend Potter, and failure to become an asset to the dark lord. The body of his owl lay bloody and dead before him, glinting in the paltry light of the moon. He didn't need it anymore, his father had said. He wasn't to have friends anymore, his father had said. Friends were a distraction, his father had said.

As Draco sank lower and lower into the depths of his torturous past, he felt himself slipping and ripping away from his body. It was as if he was being divided and cut in half, little parts of him tearing and snapping away. Bloody, fleshy, images raced across his vision as he drowned in the crimson flow that now gushed forth from his mouth.

And in a rush that quieted the world to his mind, everything became dark and he felt him self rise up and out of his body, floating exposed in the cold inky blackness that was the night. His limp form lay cold and surprisingly whole beneath him, a ghostly image of the world he was leaving behind. Then slowly sensation began to fade. His thoughts no longer had structure, they were merely waves of nameless emotion and understanding rushing back and forth inside the structureless void of space and time. Never before had this consciousness felt so naked and alone, for Draco was beyond himself now, a nameless entity floating ominously on the void of collapse, waiting to be swallowed inevitably by the dark creatures that circled like envious vultures of black.

Any moment now and Draco's non-existence would be complete, and his mind became suddenly very quiet in anticipation of the endless stillness that would soon follow. He felt the cold envelope him and soon icy tendrils were clawing their way inside.

Draco was laying on the soft grass of his secret garden. He thread his hands into the green carpet and was smiling as the sun bathed his body in the warm glow of life and comfort. As he opened his eyes and looked across the small space a brilliant creature stepped out into the light.

It outshone the very sun that gave him day, but Draco felt no need to turn away, for it was a different kind of light. Made of pure joy, the large white stag stepped proudly forward, raising its head so that its great shaggy chest caught the light with brilliant luminescence. It turned its eyes on Draco, and he was overcome by the depth and compassion that he saw in its green eyes. It leaned down now, to nuzzle his cheek softly and he reached up a hand to grasp at its many hundreds of antlers.

Slowly, with a gentleness that Draco had never known, the Patronus pulled him to his feet, and Draco buried his face in its great white mane, taking in the deep woodsy sent. It was strong, powerful, and sweet all at the same time. And then meeting its eyes once more, Draco felt himself rising slowly, carried by a brilliant white light that bore him bodily into purity.

-oooo-

"Will he be all right Albus?" That was his mother's voice. She sounded worried, but Draco barely had the focus to wonder who she might be worrying about.

"Yes, yes, Narcissa. Severus has assured me that he will be fine, he should be awake anytime." That was Dumbledore's voice. It sounded sure of what it was saying.

"It's been three weeks, you can't expect me to believe that he is all right! He should be moved, to St. Mungos, he should've been moved days ago." That was his mother again, and the tone of her voice got Draco a little riled up again. Certainly who over they were discussing must be in serious condition, but did they really have to have this conversation in his room? While he was trying to sleep?

"That cannot be done. It would be far to dangerous, far too exposed. There is no way for Severus to help us in public, it has to be here, Narcissa."

Then his mother grasped his hand, and said "Just look at him, he's so pale."

"He has always been pale, in case you hadn't noticed Mrs. Black" That was Snape, Draco would never miss that particular drawling tone. But comprehension hit him with the force of several bludgers, and he snapped his eyes open and almost sat up right into the face of his mother. She pushed him back down, overjoyed that he was awake, but too concerned to have him moving about. Thankfully she didn't say any of those stupid cliché 'you shouldn't move just yet' things, or Draco would have crawled out of his skin.

"And what the hell is going on?" He said icily as he looked around the room. At first he was rather shocked to see the unfamiliar room, but quickly remembered Grimmauld place, and his memories of the place came back to him.

He looked from face to face, they all seemed very worried, even Dumbledore, whom Draco had never seen worried. And if anything was to cause Draco to panic it would be that. And where was Harry?

He tried to recollect his most recent memory, but the last thing he could remember was playing his heart out on the cello, and then everything went black. Try as he might, his mind brushed up against a frustrating haze and he could not move past it, though he sensed great emotions beyond the veil.

They must have all seen the tension in his face, because they collectively held their breath. A minute passed in tense silence before his mother's voice softly whispered to him, "Can you remember anything, dear?"

"Where is Potter?" This time there was no silence, Dumbledore merely composed his face and said simply. "Gone."

"He's gone!" Cried Draco incredulously. He felt his hands fist around his sheets, and he looked at each of them, stunned by what he had heard. Then, a little breathlessly, "Where?"

Dumbledore crossed to the window and was cast in the golden light of the evening and began speaking softly, "We have no idea."

Draco was sure he must have misheard the old man, and he replayed the last few moments in his head, just to be certain. Still though, comprehension was out of his grasp. All he could hear was a dull ringing inside he head as he thought about the words Dumbledore had said.

He lay back on his pillow and sighed, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room turning towards him. "what about the trace?" And Dumbledore sighed, holding his injured hand against his chest as he turned to Draco.

"I am afraid, that that particular ministerial power is no longer functional." He paused and looked at Draco directly, and there was apology in his eyes that Draco had not expected. "You see, It was my intention to give Harry a head start on our lessons this year, and it would be rather inconvenient if the ministry knew where this house is. If one of Voldemort's spies in the ministry were to see Harry's trace activate it would not take them long to find this place, however unplottable it may be." He let out a sigh, and turned back to looking out the window, looking older than Draco had ever seen him.

Draco's throat clenched in an unexpected way, and he was again surprised at how attached he had grown to Harry over the past few months. Though in reality it was probably mostly due to the small glimmer of a friendship they had shared in the short hours before Voldemort's assault on the raven haired boy's mind.

"But you can deactivate what ever spell you placed on him right? Plus he didn't know that you had placed the spell on him, so he won't do anything rash right? He won't be doing more magic than he has too. And he will probably travel by foot mostly. And he will stick to the muggle world as much as possible." The words came out of him in one breath, and he was holding the sheets very tightly now, too focused to even be embarrassed by the naked fear in his voice. Something terribly unbecoming of a Malfoy. His father would be so pleased. Here he was, worrying about the boy he had been helping in everyway possible to destroy. And he'd never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Narcissa had to lay her hands on his shoulder's once again to keep him from getting out of bed, and he lay back with a scathing look on his face.

"I am afraid that the spell I placed on Harry can only be removed by the touch of my wand, I cannot do it from here." He sighed, deflated once more. "You are however, quite right, I have members of the order searching all possible muggle places Harry might be familiar with, which I dare say is not too many." He chuckled softly at this, leaving Draco thoroughly confused. Harry had lived in the muggle world for eleven years, surely he knew enough to evade a few bumbling wizards in unfamiliar territory.

"Am I correct in assuming that I have been unconscious for three weeks? Three entire weeks?" He crossed his arms and scowled around him, none of the adults seemed to want to answer his question.

His mother bit his lip and finally nodded, "Do you - do you not remember? Anything of what happened?" she looked at him with raw eyes, eyes that seemed to have been crying only moments before he awoke.

"There's- it's like a fog in my head when I try to think past last night. Er, three weeks ago… or whatever… whenever." He sighed and rubbed his forehead against the palm of his hand. Then he remembered something professor Moody had said to him fourth year, as bloody fucking creepy as that man had been, he had taught them things that were beyond taboo. For example one particular defense against the dark arts period was ghosted over with the same kind of fog, a period during which they'd had practical experience with the Obliviation charms.

"I've been obliviated, professor…but who?" There was silence as Malfoy turned once again to stare at each of the adults in turn, who seemed to be studiously avoiding his gaze. Even with the unexpected exhaustion that he was now feeling, he still had enough intellect to understand what it meant.

"Potter." He whispered the word, and the room was palpably more tense. "But then, what did he do to me, that I've been knocked out for three weeks? Where did Potter learn that kind of spell?" This time he did not have to leer around before getting an answer. Dumbledore had crossed to his bedside, and was know peering down at him from behind his half moon spectacles.

"We do not know exactly what transpired Draco. When we arrived, we found you lying frozen in the mud, with an expression of unimaginable horror." Here the old man paused and summoned a chair for him to sit. Once he was comfortably settled into it, he continued with a very solemn tone of voice. "As I said we do not know for certain, but I have my suspicions. Tell me, Draco, try to think of your happiest memories, the ones you've been using as part of your training with Harry."

A bit taken aback, he attempted to summon them nonetheless. As he thought of the night his mother had accepted him as the human being he was becoming, he found that it was somehow quieter. The memory seemed to be colorless, and the sounds were muffled and slurred. As he imagined the comfort he had felt in her arms, the feeling felt oddly distant and he drew no warmth from them. He gasped as he realized that the same applied to his other memories, he could feel neutrality and sadness, but happiness was shockingly underwhelming.

He looked sharply at Dumbledore, with disbelief so plain on his face that Dumbledore need not ask what Malfoy had found. "It is as I feared then, dementors." He was tugging on the end of his beard now.

Malfoy made no attempt to hide his incredulity, and stared wide eyed at the headmaster. "Are you trying to tell me that Harry summoned dementors? And that they carried me off into that park and left me there? Why can't I feel the happiness in my memories? Why didn't they finish the kiss?" Panic was quickly filling him as he fully comprehended the fact that he was effectively cut off from every happy memory he had ever had.

"I am quite certain that Harry does not have the power to summon a dementor, I do believe that power lies strictly in Voldemort's hands now. From what you have said, it appears that the dementors were able to pull out your soul, and one of them had indeed ingested it, before you were mysteriously rescued."

"Will I- will I ever be able to feel happiness again?"

"If our experience with Harry's godfather is anything to go by, you are still able to feel happiness. It is only memories of happiness that should give you trouble. And those should come back in their full force in time."

Draco was pleasantly surprised to find that he was happy to hear this. He smiled at the old man, who gave him a knowing wink.

"So then, this mysterious rescue?"

"There was an enormous amount of evidence that a Patronus charm had been cast. From what we've been able to gather it is quite possible that it was one of the most powerful Patronus ever recorded. I find it hard to believe that Harry was behind it, even given the fact that he once fought off a flock of over a hundred dementors. No one has ever successfully caused a dementor to regurgitate a soul, it is not even supposed to be possible. Believe me when I say that many have tried." Dumbledore clasped his hands and looking rather wondrously at Draco. "I dare say even I would not have been able to rescue you. It truly is a wonder."

The shared a smile while Draco began to process what had just been saved. He had been saved by someone even more powerful than Dumbledore. Well, a bit better at potronus charms at the very least.

"Professor Moody said that the fog means the obliviation spell was done improperly, right Professor?" After Dumbledore nodded Draco continued, "Then we should be able to break it and find out who it was that saved me."

Draco sat up again shaking his mother's arms off easily. He hated being coddled, his mother should know that much after 17 years. Dumbledore let a small smile creep across his face, apparently hoping that Draco would pick up on their plan without needing to be coaxed. Yes it would bring back the terrible pain that he had felt during the dementor attack, but it would also give him valuable insight into the identity of his savior.

"Tell me Draco, would you consent to having Hermione Granger be the one to help you with the anti-obliviation? She is the best obliviator that we can find, without involving the ministry, that is."

"Granger? Yes, of course that would be fine." Draco had never known of her particular talent, nor did he think it would be particularly helpful to a noble Gryffindor such as herself.

"Very well, she shall be here in the morning then. I suggest then that we fetch mister Draco some dinner. You are no doubt quite hungry after three weeks of only magical sustenance?" He looked at Draco, who nodded vigorously, only just then noticing the hunger that was clawing at his insides.

Dumbledore and Snape left he room, leaving Draco and his mother alone. As the door softly clicked closed, Malfoy gave his mother a look that told her he was not up for conversation, and lay his head back down on his pillow. He felt weak and slightly atrophied, and he could feel fear, anguish, and anxiety prowling at the edges of his mind. He needed a distraction, something to keep his mind off of Potter's uncertain fate.

He reached to his bedside table and quickly found his wand, ignoring his mother's intake of breath.

"I'm fine dammit, please mother, stop your worrying." He summoned his violin, which flew out of the case beside his cello and leapt into his hands. As he busied himself with tuning the instrument, he reflected on how much he used to hate the damn thing. He smirked at his mother, who he knew was thinking about the countless fights they'd had over his musical education.

She relaxed into her chair as he began play, both of them allowing themselves to be swept away by the gentle vibrations of fibre on fibre.

-oooo-

As Draco lay in the night, with the sheets curled tight about him, he felt distinctly alone. He had taken a bath, to rid himself of the feeling of sick and illness. Put simply, it had been a bad idea. He spent the entire time feeling the empty space next to him. The smells of the tub renewed the memories of the bath they'd shared, and caused him frustration as the hesitant happiness he had felt was subdued, the sadness and disappointment exaggerated, all due to the remnants of the dementor's kiss.

Several hours later he had emerged from his stupor cold and wet, and had lain on the chilled tiles of the bathroom as the night grew dark, casting a pale moon light onto his naked skin.

Finally the hard tiles pressing into the bones of his shoulder's and hips had grown sufficiently uncomfortable to prompt him to move to the bed. His sheets were currently being washed, and so he had no choice but to lay himself down in Potter's bed. Put simply, it had been an even worse idea than the bath.

As he curled himself snugly in the thick blankets and comforters, he drew in a deep breath and felt his heart throb massively in his chest. He could smell the salty air of the ocean before a storm. It was calm and sweet and quiet very far away from the rolling waves of the shore. He was surrounded by the gentle calmness that was the scrublands beyond the dunes. He lay among the reeds and thistle, feeling the damp wind blow over him, and though he was alone he could feel and presence beside him. Another breath and there was a deep wise sent that reminded Draco of being deep in a forest glade, surrounded by golden sunlight and listening to a babbling brook as it wound its way through the dense roots and moss that blocked its path.

He shook himself out of his reverie and looked sullenly out of the long low window, watching the leaves of the trees tremble in the faint moon light.

It was not the loss of a love that Draco was feeling, it was something both more and less than that. In turning himself over to the other side Draco had essentially alienated himself from everything Slytherin. The distinct absence of letters from his former allies was more than proof of that. Draco now existed in a sort of limbo, alone and friendless. The only thing that had helped to ease his loneliness was the thought that he was now free to create and shape new friendships in any he pleased. And now, the person that was on the top of his list was now gone, potentially forever. The very thing that had given him light and hope in the gathering darkness of this world might never again grace him with its light.

Draco sighed, letting his thoughts roam down this path once again, and imagining where Harry might be at this moment. Perhaps he had been given shelter by some sympathetic muggle, but given his state of mind the night before, Malfoy thought it more likely that Harry was holed up in some abandoned building, or hiding in the shadows of a tree. It had been three weeks, and he was fairly certain that Potter had found a semipermanent place of residence, though he had no idea if or how Potter was planning to take on the Dark Lord on his own.

Quietly he hoped Potter was just taking a break from the world, and from his responsibilities. Any moment he would appear in the room with a soft pop and they would trade snide comments about how Malfoy was lying in Potter's bed. He lay for several minutes in anticipation of this event, but eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.

-oooo-

Right, so my plan is to have Harry share what happens during these three weeks at some point later on in the story. But if everyone is really dying to know, I can do that now if you wish. So feed back would be quite helpful.


	7. Parchment

A/N : So this will probably be my last update for about a week. I really need to buckle down and get some school work done. But don't lose hope, I will mostly likely break down and write the next chapter soon despite my best intentions.

-oooo-

He was awoken by a soft giggle, and then several quiet footsteps as his mother placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him awake. When finally he recovered enough mental lucidity to remember the giggles he had heard, he was startled to think it was his mother, and looked quickly around the room for someone else. He found Hermione sitting with her hand over her mouth in one of the chairs by the fire place. He looked down and found himself wrapped in only one sheet, with the rest of them rolled up into a roughly human approximation, and it seemed, he had been cuddling with it for most of the night.

He disentangled himself from the sheets quickly, and muttered a spell that quickly smoothed out the sheets. He snuggled under them, looking thoroughly embarrassed and glared darkly at his mother. How dare she just bring Hermione in here without even checking to see if he was decent.

She merely laughed and left he room, sharing a knowing glance with Hermione as she shut the door. Draco summoned some robes out of his trunk and spelled the curtains shut so he could pull on some clothes in privacy.

When finally he emerged, he noticed that Hermione had laid out an enormous selection of books on the large table that occupied the far corner of the room. Some of them looked quite ancient, and many of them were written in runic titles that Draco only understood after some study. She watched him quietly as he inspected the selection, which was composed mostly of books on obliviation and related psychological magics. He was also surprised to see the pensive sitting between them, its still mirror like surface reflecting light up onto the ceiling.

They both watched the light playing across the dark wood before she met his eyes and answered his unasked question. "It will help me see the extent to which the memory has been obliviated. What I have heard from Dumbledore makes it seem like the obliviator in question did not quite know how to finish the spell. Is this correct?"

Draco was surprised by the lack of preamble in their discussion. He had at least expected some awkward conversation about their letters, or about Harry, or whether or not he had well and truly given up his life of darkness. Instead, Hermione seemed to be all business, though Draco could tell she hadn't been sleeping very much lately, if the shadows under her eyes were anything to go by. He slid into the chair beside her, feeling very on edge, he would have to be very careful lest she catch on just how much he missed the stupid prat.

"I assume you will want to start from the beginning then? With the memory." She nodded curtly.

"Begin with dinner."

"With dinner? I hardly think that's necessary Granger." Curse the mudblood, she was using this opportunity to dig for more than she needed to. She smilied slightly as she caught his unintentional wince. Shit, he had not prepared for this.

"Do you want my help or not Malfoy?" She said spitefully, pretending to begin gathering the books about her. Silently he chastised himself for even thinking the word mudblood, it would not do him good to blurt that out now.

Draco sighed and tapped his wand to his temple, summoning the memory forth with a silent incantation. He dropped it grumpily into the bowl and scowled across the table at Hermione, who had risen and was leaning into the pensive before he even had time to blink.

He waited in extreme agitation as he watched the time flash and flicker on the surface of the pensive. He had never known that it was possible to enter into the experience of another using the device, but he certainly was seeing it a lot in recent time. He remembered glumly that it had actually been three weeks since the last time, and sat back in his chair reflecting on how odd it was to completely miss so much of one's life.

When Hermione emerged only minutes later, she was already deep in thought. Malfoy knew that she was now aware of the flashes of Harry's face that had flicked into his mind when Dumbledore had mentioned distractions at dinner. She also no doubt felt his disappointment at her letter, and his disbelief at the amount of faith she'd had in their potential. She would know that along with a thousand other thoughts that he would've much rather kept secret, like the fact that he'd retired to their room with intense arousal, and had turned to his cello to distract him. She would have felt and experienced every ounce of emotion he had poured over those strings, feelings he himself didn't even properly understand. Like why the hell he was so hot and bothered by Harry in the first place, for one the boy was an unconventional beauty, and his arrogance and pigheadedness seemed to surpass all expectations.

Draco realized he was getting defensive even before Hermione began speaking, and quickly focused on his breathing to calm himself. She seemed to perceive this (damn her) and waited until his face relaxed before proceeding.

"I suppose we should just get it out of the way in the first place, otherwise I'll be thinking about it the whole time we go through this." She sucked in her breath and looked at him with piercing eyes, they were brown and did nothing to stir Malfoy's soul. And he was struck with the image of Potter staring fiercely at him from across the great hall, and because this had never been a happy memory for him he felt its effects with full force. Instead of cringing in shame as he had at the time, he felt heat rise in his face.

She was about to speak, but looked at him with her eyebrow raised, causing him to blush further. "Well I knew that you had feelings for him Malfoy, otherwise you wouldn't have written to the likes of me." She paused and seemed very uncomfortable, as if she was asking him for some sort of confirmation. Draco was not going to give her anything, this discussion wasn't going to help him get his memories back, and if she wanted to stick her nose into places she shouldn't, she bloody well deserved to be uncomfortable.

He folded his arms and scowled back at her. "I just… didn't know they had the potential to be romantic." She began to chew her bottom lip, and once again looked at Draco for some sort of response. Sighing, she gave into her punishment and continued. "I was somewhat hesitant to trust you, you know, given the history between our little group of friends. But now I can see, I have felt, your admiration for him. It's very cute you know. Quite romantic." She seemed to remember something that he had thought and scowled.

Draco smiled back at her. "I needn't say that its a bit too romantic if you ask me, Granger. As embarrassing as it is to have you know of my feelings, you should know that Potter isn't the only one who catches my eye."

"Don't lie to me Draco. I have felt what you've felt. I know of your desperation, and your loneliness. The way you feel when he looks at you, its how I've felt with Ron for the past - Merlin knows how long."

"Please Granger, try not to mention that sort of thing around me anytime soon, I'm still recovering from illness."

"Oh grow up Malfoy, we're talking about you and Harry. And if you must know, if Harry ever comes - when Harry comes, back… I just wanted to let you know that I approve."

"You approve of what? For the last time, all I want with Harry is friendship. Yes, he happens to… excite me, but that is only temporary. I've had it happen to me many times in the past." Draco wasn't sure why he was trying so desperately to get Hermione to believe his lies, but he felt it had something to do with that fact that he wasn't quite ready to accept his true feelings himself.

"I will not be continuing with this until you can admit to me that your feelings for Potter extend beyond platonic." She crossed her arms and looked determinedly away in a huff.

"Fine, I'm just - I'm not sure yet. For Merlin's sake we were only together for two days. And he spent half that time wallowing in his own self pity and pretending we couldn't help him defeat the Dark Lord. No doubt he has told you of what happened?" Seeing her expression, he went on, "Then you will understand that when and if he finally gets over this particular bout of arrogance, he will certainly associate me with its memory indefinitely. I will be the blond who brought down his defenses, made him feel his loneliness and opened him up to Dark Lord. Our past is troubled and convoluted. How can he trust that even if we were to move beyond that one moment, I wouldn't leave him the next? How can he trust me Hermione, when I don't even trust myself?" He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to make sure he had said everything he had been thinking about. Remembering one last thing, he began speaking again, "In less than two months everything I have ever known about myself and this world has come crashing down around me. I am lost Hermione. I don't know myself, and I can't say who I will be. I can't ask Harry to want me, broken as I am. He needs someone strong and solid beneath him. And as much as I think maybe, potentially, I might want to be that person, I can't. It's not love Hermione, I'm just clinging to the one and only person who can see me for who I am. I just need- I need more friends."

And there it was, He had just spilled his guts to perhaps the second most unlikely person in the world.

A long silence grew between them, and Draco spent it thinking about just how common it was becoming to have these awkward quiet moments with the people around him. He felt Hermione's intense concentration, he could practically see the calculation on her face and was oddly reminded of a muggle device he'd once seen when he visited the muggle library. He chuckled a bit when he remembered the look on the clerks face when he'd asked for books about 'Actual magic'. Stupid pureblood games of muggle baiting.

Hermione was about to speak when he began to chuckle, and though she raised an eyebrow at him yet again, she ignored his laughter. "Very well then, I suppose we should move onto the actual task at hand."

"You're shitting me Granger. You have nothing to say after all that? Fuck." Draco hung his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's because you know I'm right. We aren't meant to be together in any capacity."

She put her hands out quickly, trying to placate him. "No, no, its nothing like that. I just… didn't expect you to be so genuine with me. It's going to take me a bit to think of the proper thing to say. And yes, maybe I am being a bit romantic, but at the very least you need to be friends. There is so much you can do for each other."

"Fine, fine let's just drop it." Though he was a bit glad that she was finally agreeing with him, to a certain extent he had very much hoped for her to insist that he and Harry could possibly be something more than friends. He had been so blind these past six years, in more ways than one. He couldn't help but imagine what the world might've been like if he and Potter hadn't been on opposite sides of the divide from the start.

"The first thing we need to do is try to see if we can find a spell signature within the fog, its going to take some exploring. Seems who ever did this is really quite the amateur, I would even wager that it may have been the first time they've really meant to cast the spell."

"Really? How can you tell, it feels the same as it did when professor Moody did it to us."

"Exactly, you see, he didn't really have his heart in it."

"Could've fooled me, the bloody wanker."

They both shared an awkward giggle at that, and the tension that had grown between them seemed to lighten a little.

"You are extremely fortunate really. Given the state of the spell, I would say you had about an 80% chance of having your memory wiped completely." She paused a little to let him get over his shock before charging mercilessly ahead. "Yes, Draco, its incredibly dangerous, all the psychological magics are. In any case, the caster only barely covered the memory, we should still be able to feel around. And if we can find the place where the actual spell was cast, I might just be able to reveal the signature."

"Well let's get started then!" Draco exclaimed, rising towards the pensive.

Half an hour later they still sat as the light from the outside window grew steadily brighter and brighter. He no longer needed the lamps to read the books that Hermione had coerced him into reading before they could begin their practical examination of the memory. He had sat in his chair silently fuming about mudbloods and how Hermione really ought to be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, before eventually giving into the evil eye that watched him from across the table.

If Draco's life had been in a less turbulent state, he probably would have been quite interested in the yellowed pages that she lay before him. But as it were, he found himself rereading the sentences several times before just managing to comprehend what they were saying. The more she shoved across the table, the more he seemed to think they were all saying the same thing. 'There were subtle differences' she would say; Draco was hard pressed to believe it really mattered if the fog was slightly cool in some places, and barely warm in others. He tried to raise the matter with her, but her glare stifled the words in his throat, and dutifully he continued to trudge through the papery mess that was becoming the table until well into the afternoon.

His mother, bless her soul, demanded that they leave and come to dinning room for lunch. Despite Hermione's intense protests, Narcissa eventually had them settled around the table, though Malfoy was certain the bushy haired girl had managed to smuggle a book along somehow.

It was a quiet affair, both resisted his mother's attempts at conversation. Malfoy was lost in his thoughts, and Hermione seemed quite wary of speaking to the former wife of a vehement muggle hater. And though Narcissa seemed genuinely interested in what Hermione wanted to do after graduating Hogwarts, Malfoy couldn't help but wonder if she still made the same mental slip ups. Calling people mudbloods and the like by accident. He no longer genuinely believed in the elitist pureblood ideals but he often caught himself running the same familiar loops in his head. The ruts of thought had been ingrained in his mind so thoroughly that he still felt a twinge of cowardice when he strayed off the path.

For lunch Narcissa had made simple chicken salad sandwiches, using the left over's from last night no doubt. He chuckled at the thought of the ancient house Malfoy being forced to eat leftovers. Before his thoughts could stray towards his father, however, he lost himself within the faint taste of rosemary and the refreshing crunch of moist springy lettuce.

"You mean to say that people actually pay your parents to drill holes in their teeth? Quite a nasty affair if you ask me."

"Well you see, Muggles can't clean their teeth by magic." After realizing that she might have sounded a tad patronizing, she added quickly. "Obviously, but the point being that people neglect their teeth because it takes a bit more effort to clean them manually."

"Ha, even if I had to clean them with a toothpick I wouldn't stand a fuzzy mouth for a moment. Merlin." Yes, she still had her wizard elitism, thought Malfoy to himself as the conversation lapsed into an inordinate silence.

"I'm going to take a break Hermione, if I read one more word about Heldegaard's third rule of pensive exploration I swear you will see my brain leaking out of my ears. I'll be out for a walk." He stood up and was out walking towards the front door before either of them could so much as turn in his direction.

Less than a minute later a ruckus noise could be heard from the entrance hall that caused both Hermione and Narcissa to turn in their chairs, holding their hands to their mouths in alarm. Had Draco been in the room he might have been sickened by their synchronized gasping, as it were, he was in the hallway aiming his wand at the door and shouting an endless string of profanity and curses in its direction. Explosions of fire and white lightning soon became lost in the cloud of dust and debris that collected in the air about him. His wand felt hot in his hand, and he could feel the shocked gaze of his mother and Granger staring at him cautiously from around the banister.

Curse Dumbledore and his stupid protective wards. Malfoy was a fully fledged wizard for fucks sake, it's not as if the death eater's waited only steps beyond the mangled hedges.

"Mr Malfoy is not to leave this house." Said the door in a creaking, fibrous voice.

"Mr Malfoy will do what ever the fuck he pleases!"

"I shall relay your message to the Headmaster upon his return to this residence, Mr Malfoy."

"No- no please don't. It's fine, just a little unexpected is all." Replied Malfoy with a tightness in his voice, desperate to keep the door from letting Dumbledore know about his little outrage.

"Very well Mr Malfoy, I shall cancel the message request. Additionally, the post will be arriving in five - four - three - two -"

A tightly rolled copy of the Prophet flew out of the mail slot to slap Malfoy roughly on the side of his face. His hand clenched his wand ominously, but he allowed himself to be lead away by the slightly shaking hands of his mother.

-oooo-

Draco found himself leaning over an ancient copy of 'Partial Obliviation and other Medieval torture techniques for use on Muggles' far sooner than he'd expected. He was on the verge of asking Hermione why on earth she of all people would posses this book, when she laid the prophet down on the table and looked at him with a mixture of fear and hope in her eyes. He found it quite an odd combination, and hesitated to ask what she had found in the paper, feeling a lump rise in his throat, knowing it had something to do with Harry.

"Tell me Draco, do you find it odd how late the paper was this morning?" She leaned low, and spoke in quiet voice that set Draco's nerves on fire.

"Of course I do granger. But that's hardly the point, now are you going to tell me what is important enough to interrupt my 'necessary study of the difference between partial obliviation on muggles and wizard-folk'?" He let an extra dose of mocking tone slip into his impression of her instructions, furrowing his brow at her. She of all people should understand how tense he must be, and how little these hushed tones helped.

She was affronted by the tone of his voice and looked away with a little huffing noise. Obnoxiously, she flicked the paper open again, and disappeared behind its yellowing and maze like text. Malfoy was determined not to be the one to break their stalemate, and crossed his arms and sat back in his chair nosily, making sure Hermione knew just how peeved he was. They continued this battle of conspicuous shifting and throat clearing for nearly five minutes before Hermione gave in and set the paper down in a rage.

She flipped roughly to the second to last page in the paper, and began reading in a very short tone, speaking slowly as if Malfoy didn't really grasp the mechanics of the English language. "Shortly after the start of the work day, ministry officials were alerted to a disturbance in public toilet entrance 43 A. Upon further inspection they discovered two men who had been chained to the stall doors, and were unconscious. Ordinarily this would have been a relatively simple matter, but witnesses say that they saw several auror's enter the bathroom, leading us to believe that the two men may have a connection to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ministry officials would not comment on this matter, but did say at a press hearing late this morning, that the two men appear to have been obliviated as well as stupefied, and that examiners are attempting to reveal a spell signature."

She set down the paper again and scowled at him with pursed lips, looking uncannily similar to Madam Pince.

"Right, well shocking as that is, I don't really see what it has to do with Harry. Or do you actually expect me to believe that our little hero was the one who brought them in, assuming they are actually death eaters as the prophet believes."

"I expect you to be, at the very least, worried that the death eaters are active while Harry's whereabouts are unknown."

"Of course they will be active, Granger, they always have been and always will be. And I suspect that if any of them had actually managed to find him, we'd have known about it by now. The Dark Lord would not hesitate to let the world know that Harry is a fugitive."

He watched as she made up her mind and let out her breath in a huff. He could sense that her anger still lingered, but she pulled the pensive towards her and stirred it stiffly with her wand. "Fine, Let's just get on with this. I assume by now you understand the general theory?"

"I think we've covered a but more than just the basics, Merlin, I even picked up a few new tricks for muggle torture." As he had hoped, she gave a slight chuckle at his sarcastic remark and motioned for him to stand.

As they began to fall head first into the misty wastes of his memory, she said softly, "I sometimes forget that the rest of the world isn't quite as thick as Harry and Ron can sometimes be."

The cool grey mist swirled about them as they stood in the seemingly infinite space that surrounded them. For a moment Draco was lost in the oddity of it, watching his hands being swallowed up by smoky white tendrils as he held them out. Hermione made a little impatient noise and he hasted to follow her, lest they loose each other in the haze.

Soon they had found a wall, which, based on the layout of the room, they guessed was the far wall. Their suspicions were confirmed when they found the window. It was quite an experience for Draco, being able to run his hands over the dark wood grain of the window sill and hold the cool brass handle under his fingers without being able to see anything. As he turned to see where Hermione had gotten too, he felt it swing out and strike him in the back right between the shoulder blades. He stumbled over what he could only assume was Harry's trunk, and felt rain begin to soak his back. Cool air washed over them as Hermione rushed to help him up. She in turn tripped and cussed as she ran into something herself.

To Draco it sounded like she had hit something solid and wooden and he quickly threw a hand towards the noise. He was shocked to feel not the hard wood of his cello, but the soft skin of his face, and he withdrew his hand quickly. It was unnerving to feel his own skin, wet and hot beneath his fingers. As he touched himself a jolt of emotion ran up through his fingers and he clutched at his chest as he felt anger and desperation. Flashes of images overtook his mind, and among them in dazzling brilliance was Harry and his face stained with tears as Draco slowly fell back onto the ground, crying tears of his own and looking out the window now with rain coming down upon his face like stinging nettles and he must get to Potter he must get to Potter. He jumped as he felt Hermione's hand clutch his shoulder, and found himself grasping at the window sill. His nails dug into the polished wood as he felt a great shiver run through him, and felt a familiar squeezing sensation.

"I've just aparated Hermione. But it - it doesn't seem like I went very far. It's like I can feel myself now." He felt a little tug in his mind, that told him he was now outside, but then he felt a little squeeze again and the tug was gone.

"Shit! I've done it again. And now the tug is gone. Shit! Get out of the way." Draco pushed Hermione away in an attempt to get at the door, only to fall directly on top of his cello. Cursing he tried to lift himself up but as he moved blindly forward the world seemed to rise a float up about him. He swam and clawed towards the spot where he knew the door ought to be, but it was hopeless, they were being sucked up out of the memory. The white mist blurred past his vision and he felt it ghost over his skin.

"We've got to go back in Hermione, we've got to go now!"

"Hold on Draco, we have to let the memory settle a bit before we jump back in or we could risk tearing it, you may have already begun to unravel it when you touched your memory-self. Didn't you read that section by Sir Clemen that I gave you? It specifically warned against touching your own body in the memory."

"It was an accident." He said simply, and challenged her to berate him any further. The feelings that had welled up within him were still coursing through his veins and he very much doubted he could keep himself from shouting if she kept up this tone.

Both of them did their best to ignore the fact that they'd just called each other by their first names.

Hermione busied herself by rereading the ancient texts that she probably already knew by heart, while Draco paced about the room, trying to remember where they had landed in the memory and trying to memorize exactly how to reach the door from that location. All the while he tired to recapture the little bit of his memory that had transferred too him, but each time he did so the images faded just a little, and so he soon have that up, knowing he would need to keep Harry's face clear and sharp for when he lay alone late at night.

He could feel Hermione tensing again but he didn't care. It was her fault for making them wait so long to go back into the memory. He only had so many thoughts to go through at the moment and all them risked bringing forth that beautiful face, so Hermione was going to have to put up with his pacing if she ever wanted him to stay sane. Though the knew slytherin side of her that he was coming to understand might want exactly that, he thought with some bitterness. He knew he was being melodramatic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"All right, let's just get on with it then." Said an exasperated Hermione five minutes later, and Draco was beside her in an instant. He was already making his way through the nebulous gray with practiced steps towards the door when Hermione landed behind him. She called out to him but he made no change in his pace. He felt the door blow open, and winced as a spell shot through his chest, but he ignored the sensation as best he could, and moved past the phantom Harry and out into the hallway.

He stumbled a few times trying to run down the stairs blindly, and finally resigned himself to clutching the railing and taking the steps like a toddler, putting each foot on each step before continuing. He heard Hermione reach the steps and heard her miss the first step, still yelling out his name. Finally he reached the bottom, gasping as he put his foot down a little too roughly. Pushing past the pain he rounded the corner and nearly sprinted down the hall, running his hands along to wall guide himself forward.

"Mr Malfoy is not to leave this house." And he slid down the front of the dark oak on the verge of tears. He let one of his fists slam ineffectually against the stupid mother fucking door that was once again preventing him from going out in search of Harry.

"Malfoy! Malfoy! What is happening? Is that the door again." She brushed up against him and bent down to help him up.

He pushed her away, thankful that she could not see the anguish on his face. "It's no use Hermione. We'll never get outside."

She put her hand on her hips, and though Draco could only see a fuzzy shape in the mist, he knew that she was scowling down at him. "Correction, you can't go outside, but I can. Now move over before we get sucked back out again. You've probably apparated by now, what direction are you headed?"

"Three o'clock, after that I have no idea. But you won't get very far if I can't be out there to get the next direction. I think this feeling has something to do with proximity."

She said nothing, but reached out a hand to pull him out of the way. As soon as he was standing she pushed him roughly aside and pulled the door open. He tried to follow right behind her, hoping that the door would let him pass once the portal was open, but he felt his nose smash painfully into a hard barrier. Stunned he reached behind him only to find that the door that had been open was now shut in front of him.

Releasing a torrent of curses and hexes, he reduced the hallway to oblivion and welcomed the rising feeling that told him the memory was dissolving. As they were ejected into the room once more, Malfoy let out one final curse and rent one of Hermione's books into a thousand pieces. They watched each other in shock as the tiny white pieces fell gracefully around them. Rage slowly colored Hermione's face and she clenched her wand tightly in her hand, muttering a reparo spell and watching the jumbled mass fly back together. A piece sliced at his cheek and he felt the overblown pain that accompanied a paper cut. He gave her a scathing look but her face remained set and stern.

"You ignorant git! What part of don't cast spells in the memory did you not understand? I need not say that neither of us will be able to us to use the door now, thanks to your uncontrollable rage. It's not a very likable trait Malfoy. Have you ever tried going through a day without having a temper tantrum?" She turned away from him and went to the window, muttering "Spoiled prat."

Malfoy stood with a hand to his cheek, battling his urge to call Hermione a mudblood. It seemed the pain had done something to calm his temper, because he eventually took a deep breath and went over to stand by the window. "I'm sorry Granger, its just very stressful for me at the moment."

"You're not the only one who is upset by Harry being gone Malfoy. He's been my best friend for six years, and - and." She stopped and but her lip, looking resolutely out of the window.

"And what Granger?"

"He was my first friend, my first real friend. Even in the muggle world children don't want to be associated with a know it all." She looked at him and Malfoy felt a twang of pity for her, there was a slight glisten in the corner of her eyes that told him she was thinking of a long and lonely childhood.

"We'll at least you managed to find friends at Hogwarts, I'm all alone now. And I always have been. You can't understand how that feels."

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that Slytherins are that inhuman. You haven't made a single true friend in all the years we've spent at that bloody castle?" She folded her arms and looked at him skeptically. He shook his head slowly, looking away so that her smile couldn't lighten his mood, he wasn't quite done being broody yet.

"Look Malfoy, I never thought it possible for you and I to have a civil conversation, yet here we are. Well, semi-civil anyway. The point is, don't count them out yet, have faith and I'm sure they will surprise you."

"Granger, I haven't gotten a single letter the entire summer. From anyone."

"I sent you a letter."

"Yes, but we aren't friends. So that doesn't quite count does it?"

"Oh yes Malfoy, I'm here trying to help you discover who it was that fucked up your mind out of pure charity."

"You're a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, of course you do everything out of the goodness of your little heart."

"Do you absolutely have to turn every thing into a fight, Malfoy? I decided to give you a second chance, but I'm strongly reconsidering it."

The truth of Hermione's words penetrated his mind, if he expected to from legitimate relationships with people, he would have to stop trying to wear them down at every opportunity. And though everything he had ever been rejected the idea, he was going to apologize to her.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I've spent all my life treating other people as political opponents, it's not a habit I can break easily." And he extended a hand towards a very surprised looking Hermione.

She took his hand, and they shared a warm smile. Draco, feeling for the first time the unfamiliar warmth of human relationships.

"Friends?" He said with the fresh faced innocence of youth.

"Friends."


	8. Concrete

A/N: sorry its been such a long time coming, but schools over for about a week now. Depending on how it goes you may see a few chapters quite soon.

They had been trying for several hours to come up with a way to exit the house without going through the door. During the first several attempts Draco was far too distraught to be of much help, and took to apologizing at every chance he got. That was until Hermione accidentally slipped through a tear in the memory. It was because she had whipped around to tell Draco that 'for the last time, it was all right'. Now, he kept very silent and just let Hermione do her thing, which, he suspected was what she had been waiting for anyway. He lay on the phantom bed while Hermione tried all sorts of things to repair the memory, none of which seemed to work. Once or twice she almost fell into a tear trying to check and see whether or not her most recent spell had any effect. But this was happening less and less now, and despite the fact that they both bore bruises from their stumbling about earlier in the day, they were becoming quite adept at navigating without sight.

Draco let himself relax into the soft sheets as he heard the widows fly open with a muffled sound, a sound that was becoming clearer and clearer each time they entered the memory. If he strained just a little he could even hear the rain outside, and the curtains flapping and straining against the iron rods that held them fast to the window sill.

The blond rocketed out of his pseudo relaxation and called out to Hermione in his loudest voice, hoping she would be able to hear him from where she worked in the entrance hall. "Hermione get up here! Fuck the door I've found a better way!" He waited but did not hear her move, straining his ears he heard nothing. He sighed and crossed his arms, laying back down on the bed. Obviously she had fallen through again and he was just going to have to wait it out and rejoin her outside the pensive.

Draco squirmed in anticipation as he felt the white mist carry him upwards, just as his head hit the pillow. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face as his genius washed over Hermione. It was a brilliant plan and why it hadn't occurred to him sooner, Draco hadn't the faintest idea. After all, he had done it countless times as a child when his father had jailed him in his room.

The words that would describe his plan were already on the tip of his tongue as he landed once again in the bedroom, but they died never having left his mouth as the blonde looked around, unable to find Hermione anywhere. A little wave of panic raced up and down his spine, but he shut it down when it reached his brain, telling himself that she must have worked out a way to fix the door, and had gotten a little further into the memory. It was only natural that he should be forced out of the memory sooner.

In the mean time he took to assembling the necessary components for his plan. He jumped a little as the door burst open behind him, and he turned expecting to see kreacher preparing to berate him for tearing up the curtains. Instead he saw Hermione with a great deal of fabric in her hands as well. He was struck dumb for a moment, but quickly got over the shock and said, "Well it seems we've both got the same idea then? I must say I'm a bit disappointed, I thought I had finally one-uped you Granger."

She moved past him and dropped the pile of cloth unceremoniously next to him. "Well, we thought of it at the same time, that's worth something right? And call me Hermione, Draco."

He blushed a little, "Yes, I - uh - I suppose it is, Hermione."

They shared a smile and began trying the sheets together. Once they had a suitably long length of fabric, Hermione transfigured it into a rope with an elegant flick of her wand.

"Better make it two Hermione, can't waste any time." She looked pleasantly surprised at his suggestion, and with another couple of flicks of her wand, they were both holding a neatly coiled rope in their arms.

"Well we've still got a little bit to go until we can get back into the memory, perhaps we should check around outside, see if we can memorize a path through the woods to that clearing that they found you in."

"I think we might want to start with scaling the window first don't you think?"

Hermione raised a palm to her forehead, "Of course, its been ages since I've done this."

"You've done this before then?" He said as they approached the window. Hermione opened the latch and they leaned their heads out.

"Well at least we'll have some bushes to land in if we screw up. And yes, I used to do this all the time in the tree behind my house. Until I knocked one of my teeth out, and that was the end of that." She looked at him and the smile faded from her face. "I'm guessing you don't have pleasant memories of this sort of thing?"

He shook his head and looked out into the forest, trying not to let his frightened eight year old self surge up to the forefront of his memory. "I was always surprised that he never noticed my spare set of sheets was missing when I would get out. He always assumed I'd magicked my way out of it and ended up very proud of my 'primal abilities'. Fat load of shit." He scowled out into the evening air, which was unusually clear and sunny.

She chuckled a bit, but then said, more somberly, "You know, I would understand if you didn't want to tell me these things."

"No, it's all right. It's nice, for once, not having to worry about you using this against me."

"Oh, who's to say that won't happen, Draco?" She raised an eyebrow playfully, and Draco knew that this is what sarcasm was supposed to be used for, and he filed away this realization in 'when Potter gets back.'

"Better find a damn good spot to tie that rope Hermione, you never know what might happen."

"Ladies first, Draco."

About an hour later they emerged from the woods, slightly disheveled and picking hitchhikers out of their socks. Draco was a little dismayed at how dirty and scuffed up his shoes had gotten, but such was the new life of Draco Malfoy. Though he was loathe to admit it, it was rather enjoyable to go traipsing about like some common muggle; they had decided not to use magic to clear their path through the forest, as they wouldn't be able to do that in the memory.

It was not however, enjoyable at all to find one's way through the woods blindfolded, and he held rubbed his wand gingerly over the palms of his hands, which were scrapped and tender from the rough bark of the trees and more than one fall into a sharp rock or broken twig. Next he raised it to his face, feeling a strange tickle as the wand healed a particularly deep gash that ran along his cheek bone. Murmuring a bit, he turned away from Hermione, and licked his finger, then ran it along a cut on his wand arm. He watched the skin mesh together, thinking of the look on Harry's face when he performed this particular bit of blood magic a few weeks ago.

"Well, I suppose we'll just fix the robes at the end of all this then, I don't doubt they will get a bit tore up in the memory."

"I wouldn't be surprised if we come out of that forest bloody naked."

"Well, let's just hope it doesn't come to that." She placed her hands on her hips and gave Malfoy a stern look before her eyes focused on the distance and she looked up, slightly over Malfoy's head. He held up a hand to his hair, checking it for bits of foliage.

"Hermione, what is it? Have I missed something?" Just at that moment Draco felt something whiz by his head, and watched as a startled Hermione only just managed to catch a letter that flew straight at her face.

"Oh of course, its Ginny again."

"Is their owl always so rude?"

"He is a bit old now, take offs and landings aren't exactly his strong suit."

Draco paced about the room in a path that was becoming just a bit too familiar, as he waited for Hermione to respond to Ginny's letter.

"So what does the little redhead want anyway? Your tone sounded a little exasperated earlier, not that I blame you of course, the Weasley's tend to have that affect on people." He pulled up a chair beside the table as she looked up mutinously from her letter.

She sighed, leaned back, and brought her hand up to massage around her eyes. "It's partially my fault, but I'm not sure I should be telling you this."

"Would it help if I just guessed? And maybe if you just unintentionally gave signs that I couldn't help but pick up on, neither of us will have to feel guilty?"

"No, no, if you're going to be part of this… what ever it is, you'll find out eventually. And I don't want you to be able to say you've been a bad influence on me, Draco. No slytherin tactics okay?"

For the next twenty minutes Hermione described how Ginny had always had a crush on Harry, since the very first time she saw him on the platform, and that Hermione had always sort of encouraged this, thinking that she and Harry would be perfect for each other. Draco had positioned himself facing the window so that she could not see his reactions to her words. This seemed to make Hermione more comfortable too, because her voice relaxed a little after a few minutes. She told him of the summers they had all spent together, each of them growing more and more comfortable with each other. Hermione remembered with bitterness the short time that Harry and Cho had been dating, saying that she was fairly sure Harry still had no idea what Hermione had had to deal with. Dealing with a depressed and heartbroken Ginny was apparently almost as hard as feeding a blast-ended skrewt, while trying not to get your face blown off.

"They kissed last year you know. And, I think that was the end of it."

"What makes you say that? I didn't notice anything different between them, when did it happen?" Draco tried not to sound to eager for answers as he said this, but he could almost feel Hermione raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well, we managed to convince Harry that he should get rid of a certain potions book, and Ginny took him up to the room of requirement. Afterwards, she told me it felt like she was kissing her brother. I think they are more like siblings now than anything else."

Draco found himself releasing tension in his pose that had crept up on him unknowingly. For a moment he marveled at how relieved he was that Ginny was no longer after the boy who lived, but then he remembered something, and jumped up to dig in his trunk.

Moments later he emerged from the disaster that was his hastily packed trunk, clutching a very pristine looking copy of Advanced potion making.

"I almost left this behind when we were fleeing the Malfoy manor. Only just managed to dig it out of my closet before father came home." He sat down, pulling his chair to face Hermione once again. "At first I thought most of these little scribbles to be rubbish, but then, then I saw this." And he flipped opened the book very dramatically to a page that seemed very well read, with the words 'spectum sempra, for enemies' scrawled untidily along the side.

Hermione gasped and pulled the book out of Malfoy's hands, flipping through the pages with an astonished look on her face. "Where did you get this Malfoy? Ginny said that she hid it in a place where no one could ever find it, not even her."

Draco looked away suddenly ashamed, He wasn't sure he was ready to discuss Dumbledore's attempted assassination with Hermione quite yet. "Let's just say that if you needed to send anything to Borgin and Burke's, It would be easier than you might think. In any case, are you telling me that this book is how our little Harry has become the prodigal son of potion making?"

He squirmed a bit under the scrutinizing stare that Hermione was giving him, which she kept up relentlessly for the better part of a minute before letting out a sigh and pushing the book back towards him. "Yes, this is how Harry became top of our potions class last year. Though you know I think he is a bit better at potions than most people give him credit for. I'm not saying he is a genius, but when he doesn't have Snape breathing down his neck he gets along pretty well on his own."

"I find it hard to imagine Harry making potions in his spare time, doesn't really seem like his favorite past time if you ask me."

"Let's just say we've had our fair share of extracurricular activities over the years."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Look Draco, if I tell you all our secrets you won't have anything to ask Harry when he gets back."

Hermione bent back over the letter she had been writing, scowling and tapping her wand on the paper to lift off a few words that she no longer approved of. Draco passed the time by idly flipping through the pages of the potions book until he came across a folded up piece of paper that was wedged unceremoniously between two pages on antidotes.

Curious, Draco unfolded the long and narrow pice of parchment to find a list of names. Scanning them quickly he let out a gasp. Written in a rather untidy dark blue ink were the names of every person that Draco had coerced Crabb and Goyle into becoming. Then, scrawled down at the bottom was a word that was underlined many times, Polyjuice.

Of course he had known that Potter had been stalking him from the very moment he had gotten on the train last year, but just how much Potter had been able to deduce was quite incredible. He got up and walked over to the window, opening it and holding the list out for the evening breeze. With a flick of his wand the small parchment turned to cinder on the warm updraft that had carried it away. In a puff of smoke one more relic from his past became but dust in the wind.

He turned back to Hermione who seemed to have finished her letter, and was staring at him quizzically.

"Just something I'd rather never remember, Hermione. That's all."

She pursed her lips and walked over to where Hedwig perched, forlorn atop an armoire. Apparently she had spent the first two weeks of Draco's coma delivering letter's to Harry that never came back with a response. Harry must have ordered her not to accept any more letters because she now stubbornly refused to take anything addressed to him.

Unenthusiastically she held out her talon for Hermione's letter and was off without so much as a hoot.

Hermione had decided to stay for dinner, admitting that she was ravenous after the two hours they had spent trudging through an invisible forest. Where it not for their slightly haggard demeanor, neither of them bore any of the scars that would have told a passer by they'd had a rough day, having magicked away most of their nicks and cuts. Hermione's hair may have been slightly bushier, but that may have also been due to the humidity that had rolled in as the sun set around the four that sat cloistered around the table.

Draco was almost too exhausted to eat the excellent beef stroganoff that his mother had prepared. Though his mouth salivated at the rich meaty smell, coupled so nicely with the fresh scent of herbs, he felt his eyelids growing weary and heavy. He forced down a large helping with his remaining vigor and then sat back in his chair, tired but sated.

He ignored the scathing looks that his mother and Hermione gave him, only barely staying awake to see if Dumbledore had any wise words of wisdom for them all. It was very odd to be sitting around the small table with perhaps the most powerful wizard in the world sipping after dinner coffee with a merry smile on his face.

An unexpected sort of anger rose up within Draco as his eyes fell upon the wrinkly old lips, though it was notably subdued by his lethargy. It was unbelievable to think that anyone should entertain even a modicum of happiness or normalcy when Harry was missing.

A repugnant feeling washed over him as he looked at the old man, his smile becoming sinister and nauseating. Draco felt himself squirming inside, clutching at the arms of his chair to keep himself grounded in reality. He struggled and squinted as he was overcome by a throbbing in his temples; a full blown existential crisis was on its way.

As he raced out of the kitchen he ran his hands along the gold and red cloth that lined the walls of the hallways, feeling its scratchy fibres and letting his face come dangerously close to scraping against the stupid stuff as he swung wildly about on his way to the room.

And it was all so fucking stupid and nothing mattered because Harry was gone and they were all probably going to die, and Dumbledore was just going to sit there and drink his coffee. The old git better like it black, because darkness was going to swallow them all, heart and soul, and no mamby pamby sitting around eating mother fucking beef stroganoff and making pretend friendships with a bushy haired bitch of a witch was going to stop that.

He pushed open the door roughly, tearing at the robes that were clinging far too closely about him. He clawed open his shirt and nearly fell out of his pants as he stumbled into the bathroom. His face hit the cold tiles and he rubbed up against it, feeling the hot tingle on his skin where his nails had dug into the soft flesh and he had lain here last night feeling the loneliness grow dark within him but what did that matter and that his skin hurt because his body was just a lump of fleshy insides waiting to spill upon the rocky shore that was the future of this world and he was going to die as the high pitched voice of a snake hissed in his ears.

Somehow Draco managed to crawl through the dense air that was crowding about him, rolling into the tub and hitting several parts of his lithe body on the cruel ceramic. Water began to gush out of the taps with no help from him and he lay there with the horrid smells clouding his mind and maybe they would drown him.

But no, that would be too easy, thought Draco, as he floated up with the rising water and why had this come about so suddenly? Maybe it was because he was tired and Dumbledore had smiled just a bit too much or maybe he had just been a bit too happy that day and a small but fierce part of him was doing its best to punish him and he didn't deserve to have friends and all he was going to get was darkness.

But what did that matter anyway, being alone? Because in the end the massive grinding machine that is the passage of time was eventually going to rip him asunder with his last breath. And he would take it alone as all did, once the delusions of meaning and love that he distracted himself with blew apart with sickening fury upon the blades of fate.

And maybe if he rolled over the water would take him there sooner and he wouldn't have to make pretend anymore. He could just be a nameless entity and pass out of existence a little sooner than everyone else. And it bothered him that his particles would continue to exist for all eternity, even after all the stars burnt out and the last remnants of intelligent life faded from all time and space. Those little motes of dust floating in the cosmic void that had once been him, mocking his trite attempts at existence and meaning.

And it would be worse if he grew attached to people. And the sting would be so much deeper as he lay naked before the endless expanse of meaninglessness that was death, he would feel each and every bond as it ripped from his heart. He came into this world a small flame of magic, a spark cast out by some greater flame. And though he had grown into a fine, roaring fire, he would pass on and his smoldering flame would snuff it as the embers grew cold about him. He would go out of this world the same as he came in, and all the wisdom and friendship in the world would burn in the embers of his death. He felt it now as he lay face down in the hot water, the little flickers deep down within him.

All these thoughts kneeled suddenly before the greatest urge to breathe and his lungs were filled with flame and curse this body that would not let his mind pass on so easily. He raged against the machine that commanded him to roll over, a millennia of evolutionary conditioning butting heads with the fragile will of a bruised and broken boy.

The torrent of need that was coursing through everything that contained him finally overcame and he felt himself growing dark, his mind a lamp that was slowly going out as his body became limp in the scented waters that pushed gently against his lips. He rolled over and a great Arctic blast rushed in to quell the burning inferno that had grown within his chest, spreading its numbing tingle throughout his body as he breathed a sigh of defeat. He felt the heat of his breath go out of him, cursing this warmth that meant he was not soon to be extinguished.

And maybe if he just rolled over again he wouldn't have to stare at that bloody ceiling. That ceiling, and why did they even bother coming up with names for things because it would never actually stick to the thing no matter how many times you said it and they were all just going to be dust in the cosmic wind that would flow ceaselessly through the empty space when they were all dead, and there were no more ceilings. And maybe a great snowy owl would fly through it as the sun set and Hermione came to stand next to him and deliver a message to a girl who was no longer in love with a boy long gone. Harry Potter.

And then he was there in the tub with Draco, a ghostly image that Draco's befuddled mind conjured before his glazed and bleary eyes. And Draco could see the blood coursing through the veins on Potter's neck giving life to his body and his lips quivering with need as his mind reached out tendrils of half meaning hoping and scraping against reality for another thread of desire and companionship. But Draco had none left, he was empty and his soul was dead and Harry Potter could never want him because his nipples were starting to get cold as he lay floating on his back in the water, and because of everything that Draco had ever done. And he didn't want any bonds or connections, if he could just be a lone spark at the edge of the bonfire that was humanity, he could just grow cold alone in the darkness. He wouldn't have to feel that sickening contrast when the wind blew him from the coup, as death took his heat and dug its icy tendrils into his flesh. But what did that matter they were all going to die and why couldn't Potter see that, if only Potter could see that, what if he could see it? And maybe the reason why Harry's wild hair stirred a primal beast within and set fire to Malfoy's soul was because the prat could take all this meaninglessness and stare it in the face, rejecting it as only humans can. Harry turned to him with those piercing emerald portals and drew Draco bodily into a dream of vivid green and earthy hope.

And so maybe they were all going to die, no matter what happened, but an electric energy that now ran through him pushed away these thoughts and he could feel the delusion of love and friendship enveloping him once again because if they could live their life and be happy it would forever stain the fabric of time and I DRACO MALFOY DID ONCE EXIST AND HERE IT IS THE RECORD OF MY WILL. And he would burn for all eternity until his flame bore such a mark into the fabric of time and space that he would never be forgotten.

Draco breathed out and the water became still and quiet around him. He watched the dust motes fall gracefully in a shaft of moonlight and breathed them in greedily, knowing maybe they would give him cancer, but what did it matter? He was Draco Malfoy and it was up to him what to do with the time that is given to him.

He floated for a time, feeling the water gently caress his from and praising this vessel that had known better than he had. He ran his hands over his soft skin, reveling in the feeling that set his raw nerves on fire, knowing that someday another's hands would hold him in this way and ghost softly about him. Be it Harry or no, love would find a way to shield him with its most powerful magic against the black void that was the future. And all he had to do was let it in and he would be forever surrounded by a blinding white light hurtling restlessly through time immemorial and that was why Dumbledore could smile and sip his coffee.

He had the faintest feeling that he had already known this, and he felt rain beat softly against his face and he knew that somewhere in his lost memory he had realized the meaning that is created in the love between two people, and resolved never again to forget it.

-oooo-

Draco was the spitting image of a human prune by the time he dragged himself out of the tepid and mismatched smelling water. He walked slowly and determinately into the room, having decided on his next course of action only moments before.

It had come to him when he thought again of the note that Harry had left in the book; he would take advantage of the insatiable curiosity that was sure to endure despite the desolate void that Harry now felt he must be facing.

He stood naked before the window and put his wand to his temple, summoning forth the memory of the past hour and placing the elegant and fragile wisp into a glass container with the greatest of care. He watched the silver thread swirling gracefully and it felt odd that such raw, powerful and dark emotions could be distilled into something so beautiful.

He set it down on the table and took up his cello, waiting for Hedwig to return. When finally he heard the flap of wings that told him she had arrived, he did not stop playing. He let the deep vibrations soothe the tenderness within his soul, playing in synchronicity with the beat of his heart.

Minutes later he opened his eyes to find Hedwig very close to him, eyeing him with an uncharacteristic amount of emotion in her owl eyes. She seemed to say that she understood and bent to pick up the small shinning package, looking back for one last profound glance into Draco's steel eyes before she took off into the night.

Her white plumage glinted in the moonlight; and love was truly a powerful thing.

-oooo-

Harry shifted over on the rough cot that he had been sleeping on, moving his eye out of a shaft of light that penetrated a crack in the steel walls that surrounded him. He shook his head and looked out onto the dark floor of the abandoned warehouse in which he now lived. Having successfully put on his glasses he realized that he had once again crushed them in the vice grip that clutched them close to his chest in the night.

He muttered a groggy spell and began to see clearly. Sitting up and rubbing a tired hand through his hair he waved his wand about in front of him, checking to make sure the wards he had set up were still in place. Each of them glowed for a few seconds before fading away into obscurity once more.

Harry lay back down on the rough sacks of cotton that he had transfigured into a loose interpretation of a cot. He breathed in the musty scent of human industry that still permeated the raunchy palace long after the muggles had left it to time. And why should it bother him? All this waste and loneliness?

He took a galleon out of his pocket and flipped it into the air, wincing a bit as it landed heavily on the hard concrete with a thud louder than its weight. He peered lazily through the locks of hair that hung about his face, and reached out to the coin.

Heads.

With a sigh he fell back onto the grimy bed and waved his wand. With a flourish the wards swelled and began to unravel in glowing strings about him. From a shinning cocoon they fell away in fluid strokes to lay about him in the darkness. Tiny tinkling sounds came from the clash of the lithe white strands whereever they met on their way to the floor. Harry felt his chest heave and a dull pleasure from as he watched his barriers drop. Their noise did not betray the fact the he had just exposed himself to the dangers of the world. It was too beautiful for such a reckless thing, so he could not bring himself to worry.

Harry fingered the galleon, wondering if he would ever again have need of it. They would come now. He was sure of it. Darkness in corporeal from gilded in silver masks. He knew not how long it might take, and maybe he could outrun them for a time, but he would not be able to keep the pressure of his magic from the prying mind of a dark wizard.

There was a soft rustle outside. The sound came hurtling across the darkness to freeze the blood in Harry's veins. He winced as a strong thud clenched in his chest, and the tingle of adrenaline and pure fear overtook him.

His eyes were shut and he felt a hot prickling sensation in his mouth; an eternity he waited in the large darkness that filled the abandoned warehouse. Harry's mind was in his ears as he strained to the hear the next sound that meant they were closing in.

His wand hand tensed around the slender sprig, and he ground his thumb into its hilt, silently cursing himself. Of course they were going to know where he was. He should have known those two weren't working alone. They were probably just pawns. Juicy bait to lure him out while the real darkness watched from the shadows.

All his existential pretense lay waste against the fear that wound up inside him. Sure he was going to die, but every fibre of his being was now coiling to strike out against the end of his life. It was his choice no longer, his depressed and imbecilic mind was just along for the ride.

Harry held his breath and heard the loud fast beat of his heart. It seemed to swell the air about him, and he could practically feel it brushing in and out across his skin. In the next moment he was overcome with a sharp pain that began to grow behind his knee. He sat with it pressed against his chest, and his heel felt the pressure of his leg wanting to move, and his muscles ached to be allowed to uncoil. It dug at his mind like an itch that he could not scratch lest the sound make him miss their coming in to kill him.

The agony of this moment condensed at the nape of his neck, and he leaned his head back, bitting his bottom lip to keep from making noise. And then it snapped and his leg shot out and scuffed against the floor noisily. He cussed under his breath and sprang to hide behind a pile of crates, listening to see if they had heard him. He thought that just as his foot slipped he heard the door creak open, and he cursed the limb that now tingled as he put weight on it, and whose sound may have condemned him to death.

The blood slowly trickled back into the starved flesh and a cool night breeze ruffled his hair. He inhaled the sharp smell of fish and rot, and quickly spelled his cot back into its original from, and summoned the small backpack that he had stolen from Dudley.

Harry felt the chilly tingle of his disillusionment charm as it ran its icy tendrils down his back, and hoped that none of them would be competent enough to be able to detect spell casting. In wizard areas, spell signatures commingled with the abundance of magic in the air and it usually took an experienced Auror to sort them all out, but here, in this abandoned muggle area, Harry's magic would shine out like a beacon to gathering darkness.

He let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding, and at that very moment, could have sword he heard a small hoot. He turned frantically to survey the rafters, but could not see anything to confirm what he had heard.

Thinking back, he played the memory of the first sound over and over in his head, and came to conclusion that it sounded an awful lot like the muffled flap of an owls wing. And there it was again, the soft hooting, the sweet, doleful, melodic note that he new only all too well.

Peering his head around the side of the crates he saw the majestic white owl sitting proudly in a shaft of moonlight. His instinct was to run out too her, but something held him back. And he was glad that all his years of sneaking and being afraid had made him paranoid to the very core. Seconds later the double rail doors of warehouse slowly creaked open and he saw the shadow of a tall figure move into the moonlight.

Every second of the screeching sound and rolling metal was pure agony to Harry as he realized the battle was real, he was about to face certain death. As the door clinked to a halt, he felt something snap within him. A great coil unwound within body, and he felt a rush of pain and pleasure slice up his spine and seem to glow behind his eyes, clouding his vision with a magical aura. He let out a husky breath as he felt heat rolling off of him in waves. Every move of even the tiniest muscle in his body was followed by a cascade of pure power being released in a chain reaction that was ravenously blowing through his body, that felt a hollow vessel for the raw magic. The rickety metal of the building creaked and scrapped against itself, groaning under Harry's spiritual pressure. A sharp wind blew up around him, the howling in his ears now matching the howling within him.

Harry was beyond all conscious thought when he stepped out from behind the crates to face whoever was stupid enough to stick around and witness the raw torrent of power that was now flowing out of him in great dense waves.

He did not see who it was, only the dark cloud of ruble that sprung up in the wake of his primal magic. Harry uttered no incantations, merely felt the need for destruction and let it happen.

The air had torn apart and collapsed in on itself, cracking with an explosive force as prismatic energy whipped at the earth from whence a great cloud of ash and dust rose to obscure his assailant.

Hedwig had flown screeching into the rafters, but Harry paid her no mind, focusing instead on the clearing cloud of dust. A dark shape could be seen, and soon Harry saw the slight form of a raised wand, and felt the destruction welling up again.

Five times the air exploded, each concussive blast blew back towards Harry, and he reveled in the rubble and dust that separated before his outstretched hand. He could still feel his magic coursing steadily around inside him, but for the moment he felt satisfied with the amount of destruction he had unleashed. Let the ministry come and try to arrest him for underage wizardry, he would blow them up too.

The air smelled sweet and magical, and he let himself become intoxicated with the scent of his victory. The primal feeling reverberated through the air and he let it pass through him, taking pleasure in the magical sparks that ran across his skin.

Never before had he experienced such power, save for the night on the clock tower as he stood above Malfoy, preparing to end it. But he had not let it out then, and the memory of Malfoy's tears came to him and he felt a little of his bliss slipping away. He wondered if the poor sod that had come to kill him had cried as his body was ripped to pieces, but he pushed the thought away, lest it spoil his mood.

His eyes were closed and he let out a great sigh, feeling the magic slowly slipping back to its normal, rational level. There was a distinct euphoric lightness in his head, such was his state that he barely even noticed when his arms became bound to his side, and his wand fell silently to the ground.

Only when the grizzled hand of Albus Dumbledore pressed itself against his chest did he notice something was amiss. From atop the mountain of power that he had been blissfully resting his mind, he saw the piercing blue eyes. They came to him as if from a great distance, and suddenly he felt himself sliding roughly down the stone sides to slump at the feet of the elder wizard.

Staring down at the incredibly flamboyant boots, Harry tried to lose himself in the intricate embroidery that wound its way across the deep purple fabric. His body bind had been released, but still he felt paralyzed.

"Harry Potter."

The tone was stern as Dumbledore had ever been, and though he wished desperately to look anywhere but at those piercing blue eyes, he could not resist. Instead of the anger that he had been expecting, Dumbledore wore a proud smile on his face and the familiar knowing twinkle in his eye.

"It is not very often that one as old as myself is surprised by a show such as that." He gestured around the ruined warehouse entrance, and smiled as he picked Harry's wand up off the floor.

Harry took the wand in stunned, wordless silence. He had thrown his most powerful magic at the old man, and he didn't even have one silver lock of hair out of place. It would have been infuriating if Harry wasn't in such complete awe.

Dumbledore extended his hand yet again, producing from his robes a single glass vile. Within Harry could see the familiar glow of a memory. He took it with yet more mute silence, and became even more confused as Dumbledore winked, and vanished into fog that gathered about the blown out doors.

As per usual, their encounter left him with more questions than answers, though Harry thought a record may have been set. Never had so few words left him in such a complete state of turmoil and confusion. He gripped the glass vile and held it to the paltry moonlight, now muted as it diffused through the fog.

About an hour later he sat slumped against a few boxes, staring listlessly at the swirling memory. He was lost in thought, trying to work out just how his life had lead to this point and wondering how he was ever going to live down the shame. And he would have to apologize to bloody Malfoy again.

He also did as much as humanly possible not to look at the crater that remained of his explosive outburst. It had felt good, and as much as he wanted to accept Dumbledore's light hearted perspective on the thing, as much as he wanted to believe he had only enjoyed the power, deep down he knew that there was a dark part of him that had taken control. He had not only enjoyed the unbridled release of his pent up fear and anger, but when he thought of the death eater, being mangled and torn into unrecognizable fleshy pulp before his very eyes, he had felt such sadistic pleasure.

Of course it had not actually happened, anywhere save his sick and twisted mind. He had spent the last two years pretending he wasn't a murderer, and that killing Voldemort would be hard. But now he was not so sure. He was not so sure that he wouldn't enjoy ripping the heart out of the man who had wrought such havoc upon his life.

A single tear fell from his eye as he thought of the innocence that had been forcibly squeezed from his childhood. As if being locked in a cupboard for eleven years wasn't enough to fuck someone up.

With a sigh he gave into his curiosity, as Dumbledore no doubt knew he would eventually. He would find out what memory of Dumbledore the old man thought he should see. Hedwig flew to his shoulder, and Harry leaned his cheek against hers, reaching a hand up to stroke her downy feathers.

She hooted dolefully and flew off into the night.

"Race you home then." And with a small pop, no trace was left that Harry Potter had even been hiding out in this old abandoned warehouse. Unless you were to somehow notice the gaping chunk of concrete that had been taken out of the floor, but honestly, when did muggles ever notice things like that?

-oooo-

Draco had quite a time finding the pajamas he had buried in the back of his trunk. It had gone out of vogue to wear pajamas in the Slytherin dorms around his fourth year. Naturally, if you were too much of a prude to risk flashing your junk around, you obviously didn't have anything to be proud of. Fortunately Draco had quite a bit to throw around in that department, and was never afraid to show off his serpentine mass. But if he and Harry were going to be friends, which is all that Draco wanted, he was going to have to sleep without sheets. A certain house elf seemed to be slipping in his old age, and though Kreacher seemed utterly bewildered at the whole affair, Malfoy was not stupid.

In any case, if Harry was going to come home tonight as Draco desperately hoped, he would need clothes to wear to bed as he slept on the bare mattress. He had searched in vain for another pair, but it seemed all the sheets in the house had been bewitched for their particular mattresses. Most clung desperately to their charges, and the one that he managed to wrestle free had shrunk to the size of a sock by the time he got back to the room. He found it quite odd, but put it down as a Black family quirk and thought nothing more of it.

As he pulled on the green silk bedrobes he felt them grow and tailor themselves to his larger body. It had been quite awhile since he'd worn them, and their seems protested at his new from. He then turned to organize his trunk. It was a momentous task, given that it had several expansive charms placed upon it, and given that he had managed to pack nearly all of his worldly possessions into it as they fled the manor. The project was soon halted as the sentimentality of it overwhelmed him. He shut the thing hastily, clutching a shiny medallion to his chest as he went to lay on the bed. His father had given his owl's name medallion to him after throwing the mangled body of his owl to the family dogs, as a reminder of his failure.

It was an odd sort of coincidence that he should find this now. He considered the fact that he may actually bridge the gap of friendship with Potter in the near future, and that it was his failure to do so, so many years ago, that lead to this point. If that one event had happened differently, if they had become friends, and Harry had become a Slytherin, what then? Would he have remained friends once he learned of the Dark Lords plan? Or would he have betrayed his family and stand by Potter? Would they both have perished together under the cursing hand of Lord Voldemort?

Malfoy fell into a light, and uneasy sleep, pondering these questions until his mind ran itself into exhaustion. He only faintly heard the soft pop that signaled Harry's return. It probably should have been an epic moment, but they were tired and much too frosty for that. Draco merely mumbled unintelligibly, and watched as Harry went over to the pensive.

He was asleep by the time Harry emerged, and didn't see him clutching the edge of the table, nor did he hear him walk into the bathroom. He rose vaguely to the smell of the bathwater, but only came to lucidity again when Potter emerged. He felt rather than saw Harry standing by the beds, he kept his eyes closed and tried to relax his pose, lest Potter think he was cold. He heard the gentle breathing, and the subtle shifting of weight as Potter picked up the covers on the bed.

Draco almost dropped the charade of feigned sleep when an unexpected weight fell upon him, and he felt Potter draping the comforter over top of him. He felt the soft cotton, and a whiff of scented air pass under his nose. He could smell the vanilla bathwater, but underneath that was that smell that was unequivocally Potter's.

It was so tempting to give into the soft sheets and float away into his dreams, but he clung to the edge of his lucidity, and waited until Harry had crawled onto his bed. He let Potter lay there for several minutes before he could be sure that the rising and falling of his sleeping chest was confirmed.

He lay the quilt on top of Potter's nearly naked from, focusing his attention on the window, and resisting the temptation to tuck him in. He crept back to his barren bed with the quiet of a ghost, and though he heard Harry stir a bit as the covers fell over him, soon his chest was back to the gentle rise and fall.

Draco rolled over, and though he had no goose down to cover his from, he was warmed by the gentle sounds of Potter sleeping and the knowledge that he had accepted Draco's kindness. Then he felt a soft weight lay upon him again, and he was about to roll over and tell Potter to shove it when he lay the blanket back over him, but gasped as he felt another body slide onto the bed beside him.

Under the covers he felt the heat of Harry's exposed back suffuse the dark space between them. He had thought he felt warmth only a few moments ago, but this did not compare to the comfort that penetrated to his core as his heart beat great blissful beats in his chest. Still, despite the closeness, he could feel Potter's tension, which matched his own as they lay chaste, back to back, neither touching but both feeling the tingly space between their bodies like a screeching siren. It called out to Draco and kept him from even thinking about falling off to sleep.

He took to chewing his lip to distract himself from the awkwardness of the situation, and nearly died when he felt Harry's shoulder blade just barely graze against him. His heart leapt to his chest, and then he spent the obligatory five minutes racking his brain to decide if it was on purpose or accidental. Letting out a calming breath, he leaned over to brush just ever so slightly against Harry's back in an agonizingly slow motion. He felt every miniscule movement of his muscles, and his nerves screamed out, standing ready for the exact instant he made contact with the other body. As he drew closer to Potter, he came up against a weird tingly barrier that seemed to press back against him. And then, as he drew even closer it seemed to fall away and pulled him the last few centimeters until they met and a warm soothing wave of energy passed between them.

He gasped again as the moment they touched, Potter leaned back into it and the world fell still and Malfoy melted into the mattress. He would still have to resist the urge to scratch every itch, and squirm about as he usually did while falling asleep, but at least he needn't be on pins and needles all night.

Both boys soon drifted off to sleep and neither heard the soft click of the door closing, and the quiet chuckle of an old scheming man as he walked away into the darkness of number 12 Grimmauld place.


	9. Lilac, Jasmine, and Walnut

It's been quite awhile since my last update, and for this I apologize. I've spent the last week drawing skeletons for my life drawing class, and have come up against a bit of a writer's block. Hopefully we've taken a big chunk out of that with this chapter (the longest one yet?). I promise this will be romantic soon you smut-heads.

Keep yourself occupied with some PWP in the meantime.

I hope these new divider's will help with the flow a little bit, I'll be going back through the other chapter's and fixing them.

-oooo-

Malfoy felt his hair mixing softly with the moist grass beneath his head. His eyes were closed, basking in the bleak warmth of the morning sun that graced his long blond lashes. A small breeze blew over him, and with it came the sweet smell of lilac and jasmine.

The smell was such a vivid picture that Draco could see the blue sky and the wind blowing in the tall Iris without needing to open his eyes. He knew they way their frilled petals swayed and danced at the gentle caress of the air passing over their deep purple and blue.

It was one of those rare moments when Malfoy was not lost in deep introspection. Instead his mind was a silent space, languidly exploring the outer reaches of his secret garden. He was not within himself, but out on the green lawn and amongst the wet roots that thrust themselves and twined into the water's edge. The entire space seemed to swell and coil in and out with his breath, the solid earth breathing tight beneath him.

He felt a shimmer pass over him and rolled over to feel the soft fur of a familiar beast. As he opened his eyes a hundred dreams came back to him and at the base of his skull he felt the pang of pleasure that told him this white stag was to comfort him.

Not that he had been particularly suffering from a lack of comfort, but as he lay his head back into its fluffy chest it was incomprehensible that he should have thought this garden complete only moments before. Several minutes passed as Draco slowly let himself doze with the gentle rising and falling of the brilliant animal's chest, and eventually he reached a hand up to twirl in its diamond down.

They lay tucked away in this space dense with secret until the sun had risen high into the sky, and Draco had to squint shut his eyelids to stave off the blinding red. The dew began to rise and the grassy smell of the early morning gave way to the bright scent of wildflowers in bloom, and the freshly opened buds of honeysuckle that crept over the garden walls.

The white stag reached its head down to nuzzle the soft blond locks, and breathed in deeply. Malfoy felt it shudder slightly beneath him, and he snuggled closer to its great chest. As he did so, he felt it let out a sharp breath, its nostrils flaring, and in a great wind Malfoy found his head once again lying on the damp grass.

He sank into the dank earth that still smelt of the great beast and mourned its leaving. His dreaming mind had no inclination to pursue the reasons why the stag 's absence held such powerful sadness; instead he merely floundered on the lawn, tossing and turning to find his comfortable spot. But every way he turned he ended up in the depression that lay flat the grass in the wake of the deer.

And now as the wind blew over his prone from, it brought not visions of graceful flowers, but faint wisps of a white deer long gone. As Malfoy floated out of his dream, he tried in vain to cling to it, but felt it slipping between his fingers like the clouds that now raced past his face.

-oooooo-

Malfoy woke with his hand twined in the sheets to his right. He pulled himself over too it and felt the depression and the warmth of a body still radiating from it. Disappointment and a half remembered feeling of comfort washed over him, quickly followed by confusion. It suffused his mind, which was still very much asleep, and he turned to face the late morning sun shinning brightly into their room.

The window was not open, and so the room still hung with the musty dense warmth of the thick house. Draco snuggled back under the thick sheets and breathed a heavy sigh as his body relaxed into his contortion. It was from here that he began his morning stretching, something that had fallen out of his routine of late.

And he was glad of its return as he felt his muscles loosen with each turn and pleasurable twist of his body. He emerged a few minutes later from the tangled mass of quilts and heavy blankets, rosy eyed and his blond hair slightly disheveled. It was only then, as he looked around the room that he noticed the absence and felt a muted wave of panic run through his thoughts.

He rose from the bed quickly and walked over to the bathroom, feeling the gentle tingles in his legs as they came to support his mass after a weighty sleep. He pressed himself against the dark wood of the door and listened, hoping to hear Potter sloshing around in the tub. After a few moments of silence he felt himself tense again as another wave of panic swept over him.

"Potter are you in there?" he held his breath in the silence that followed.

"Yes, Malfoy, do you need to pee vanilla again?" Potter's voice held none of the easy sarcasm it usually threw in Malfoy's direction, instead the blond perceived awkwardness, tinged with just a hint of morose sadness.

Draco felt his heart flutter with relief, and he screwed up his face in confusion, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. He hadn't expected to be so worried about Potter in the first place, and felt himself a little dramatic thinking that the he would just up and leave again.

"Malfoy?" Evidently he had taken too long to respond, but still Draco did not say anything. He listened to the muffled sound of Potter's voice as it carried through the wood and tried to explore his relief further. It felt familiar, but he could not put his finger on where he had felt it before, just as his mind seemed to grasp at it, it would slip away into the misty crevices of his mind once more.

"It's nothing Potter, I just thought- I just thought…." Draco sighed and leaned against the door, unsure of how Potter might react to his worry, and not wanting to make him feel any more awkward than he already did.

He would have to write Hermione, and see if Potter was the kind of person who wanted everyone to pretend it never happened, or make a big deal out of it. Though given Potter's supposed hatred of the media, he guessed it was the later.

He felt Harry's silence and bit his lip, but was distracted by a growing pressure in his groin. Malfoy let out an exasperated chuckle as he realized his need to pee.

"Actually Potter, I thought I do have to pee." It was a bad coverup, but he had to use the opportunity the best he could. At the very least it would leave Potter confused, something his father had often told him was better than certainty with any political opponent. And he mustn't keeping thinking like that.

And it was with conflicting thoughts about his father and the future that Malfoy entered the bathroom, deigning not to look upon Potter lest his early morning arousal well up. The boy in the tub sloshed a bit, and Draco could not help but reflexively look in his direction.

Harry Potter was turned towards Draco, and green met gray in a sublime moment. Draco felt his knees grow weak and he let out a hot heady breath when he saw the wet glisten on Potter's lips. He watched them all they way as he stumbled to the adjoining bathroom.

His hand stroked down his body a little too sensually as it slipped under the band of his briefs to pull out his cock. As he grasped the shaft that was still half-hard from whatever he had been dreaming about, he felt it stir and twitch. His hips ground forwards unconsciously, and he closed his eyes as he felt the sensual feeling of the head of his cock as it hung weightily in his hand.

Draco felt a little shutter as he slid his foreskin back and felt it drag against the sensitive skin. As he began to pee he could feel a fuzzy arousal buzzing in his head, and he bit his lips hard to push it away. It would not be a very good thing for Harry to see him this way, and he thanked Merlin that he had decided to keep the pajamas on last night, even as it got very warm under the covers.

He felt the last drops squeezing from his cock, and it stirred again, rubbing, almost purring, when he put it back in his briefs. It ground against the dark silk fabric and he felt the hot meat against his skin. The heat in his groin was now coming out in his breath, great sultry waves and he could feel the tingle behind his testicles also in the backs of his eyes. Blood throbbed hot in his temples, and he knew not why his arousal was flaring so.

He tucked his dick to the side and angled himself away from Harry, hoping the boy wouldn't notice his protrusion. Draco walked swiftly out of the bathroom without so much as a backward glance, which he was sure would have positively crippled him.

He lay himself on the cool sheets and panted for several moments before he realized the subtle unconscious grinding of his hips into the mattress, and though his cock was holding his mind captive and making it almost painful for him to stop, he eventually rolled him self over.

Malfoy gripped the sheets with his hands in an attempt to keep himself from grabbing at his pulsating cock. and took deep rhythmic breaths. He tried to think about the day ahead to move his mind along from the arousal. Unfortunately he barely knew anything about what was planned for the day, so his usual tactic did not work quite as well as it did when he had double potions and a transfiguration essay to write over lunch.

Instead he thought about just how long it had been since he had last released, it was coming close to a month now, and he chastised himself for not doing it while Potter was gone. Now that he was back, the chances of having a private moment to himself were quite slim. And he knew it would be impossible to get it off in secret while Potter was sleeping in the same room.

Though he could still feel his erection straining against its dark prison, he was no longer laboring under the heavy feeling of arousal, and so he rolled out of bed and busied himself making the bed while it fell away. It was nearly 10:30, and Draco was sure to be chastised by his mother for being such a lay about, and he figured maybe if he waited for Potter she might not be as vocal.

Malfoy debated a bit, whether or not to change out of his pajamas. He decided it would be better to wait and see what the day held in store for them. Their Hogwarts letters ought to be arriving soon, and if they were going to be out in public he would have to put a little extra primp in his outfit. He and his mother were sure to still get the scornful looks from the average passerby; though everyone knew the Malfoy manor now lay in cinders, they did not know of their defection from darkness.

The blond gave a slight shudder at the thought of his father still roaming the countryside, scheming in the black corners of the world with the Dark Lord. He would no doubt be struggling to keep his place in the ranks, with his name having disappointed the Dark Lord many times over now.

As Draco went to stand before his trunk he wondered if his father truly knew the extent to which Draco was familiar with the inner workings of the Death Eater order. His father had always tried his hardest to keep Malfoy in the shadows of the shadow organization, whether out of fear for his safety or suspicion of what he might have called weakness, Draco was not sure. But Snape had taught him well, and he planned on making the most of the knowledge he had gathered.

He had already shared all of this with Dumbledore of course, but at some point he knew he would have to have a discussion with Potter. He sighed and began, once again, the task of organizing his worldly possessions. Draco managed to sort through his collection of formal jackets and vests by the time Harry emerged from the bathroom.

Upon seeing out of the corner of his eye that Potter was wrapped in only the fluffy white towel, he ducked quickly into his trunk and disappeared into its dark interior until he no longer heard the sound of Harry dressing. It was hardly better to be in the dark while hearing the rustling of cloth as Harry lay it over his body, as it made it all the easier for Malfoy's sex starved mind to imagine it in vivid, sultry detail. Potter's voice carried with it images of his smooth skin shinning pale in the light of the sun, and Malfoy resorted to imagining a Dementor sucking cock to fight off his arousal for the second time that day. Instead of the smooth expanse of white skin that ran along Harry's neck he saw the clammy black hand of a Dementor reach for him and the sickening squelching sound of its mouth heading straight for him.

A dull pain coursed through his groin and he clutched at his stomach, feeling the cold that was always associated with the memory of Dementors. Strangely enough he also felt slightly wet, almost as if rain was falling on his face. He stumbled out of the trunk looking very confused and probably a little pale.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, Potter, it's nothing. It's just… nothing" His stupid words were met with a raised brow from Potter, and as he walked by Draco to lace up his shoes on the window sill, Draco caught a sent that was becoming far too familiar. But oddly enough this time he saw a brilliant flash of light and felt the feeling of wet on his face again. Harry gave him yet another quizzical look as he looked up from his shoes, but Draco shook his head and went back to sorting the various clothes that were scattered in piles about his trunk.

"Merlin, Malfoy, do you actually wear all these clothes?"

He snatched the gold embroidered jacket that Harry had picked up out of his hands and threw in roughly into a pile to his left.

"Why yes, actually. Not that I would expect you to know much about elite wizarding society." Seeing the look on Potter's face, he knew that his sarcasm was not well received and hastened to recover. "I'm sorry Potter, its just so easy to tease. You can borrow anything you like, I'd say we are about the same size, no?"

Harry said nothing, but smiled and turned away quickly and Draco could have sworn he saw the beginnings of a blush. He was caught of guard by the sight of Harry standing there in the brilliant morning sun, and a large quantity of feelings welled up inside him. Malfoy walked towards the window and settled himself against the panes of clear but slightly warped glass, hoping to let some of them float away. Draco felt the sun on his skin and watched it suffuse the slight hair on his arm, glinting in the light. He watched this and felt its warmth and the calm but not quite happy state of his mind and how very far away the thoughts of last night were.

He felt a subtle form of depression slip in around the edges of his mind at this thought, and his mottled identity floated once again before his eyes, and who was he? How could he, or anyone be anyone when thoughts flowed in and out in great tumultuous waves faster than vogue fashion? And his mind began to stir with a thousand different things as he prowled and explored what it might mean to be Draco Malfoy and to be both despairing and hopeful about being Harry Potter's friend and feeling his dick give a twitch every time the boy opened his mouth and the vibrations shook the air and went straight to his cock.

But as these ideas streamed before him warping, bending, and bubbling in places like the antique glass that distorted his view of the muggles on the street below, he turned to Harry and felt it all melt away into languid silence.

All capacity for though fell away as Draco watched Harry walk across the small room to the door. He saw the dust sparkle in the sun and then his eyes focused beyond it, the sun also illuminating the tall dark haired figure as it moved fluidly and Draco could feel the fabric of Harry's robes brush against his skin as if it were his own and he felt the weight on his leg and hip as Potter put his foot down. It was a marvelous thing to be so entranced and it was not Potter's beauty that captivated him, but the sheer reality of it all. Here, being with Potter, he felt grounded in a reality that escaped him when he lay alone in the darkness.

He was in the midst of trying to formulate a way to say this but Potter interrupted him with a hand on the door.

"Are you coming Malfoy? I thought we were going to breakfast."

Startled out of his trance, it took a great deal of effort not to stutter incomprehensibly. "Uh, yes I do believe we are. But hey, can we - can we talk later?"

Potter eyed him suspiciously but nodded his head and opened the door for Malfoy. They walked silently down to breakfast, each feeling the space between them as it rubbed awkwardly against their nerves.

-oooooo-

Draco must be fucking planning something. It was one of the many thoughts that now spun lazily about Potter's head as he sat around the quiet table. He could still feel himself shaking, the awkward walk down the stairs had done nothing to quell his trepidation. Narcissa and Dumbledore hand thankfully remained very quiet when he'd walked into the kitchen, and though his robes felt several sizes too small for him, he did not die of embarrassment as he had expected.

It was clear that Narcissa was making every effort to pretend that Harry had not run off for three weeks like an overly emotional child, asking him how he slept and if he enjoyed the mock prefects bathroom as much as she did.

"It reminds me of my time at Hogwarts so very much, I dare say they are even nicer than the ones we had at the manor."

And though it shocked Harry to think of a teenage Narcissa roaming the halls of his beloved school, he gave it barely a passing thought, for he was still ruminating on the nature of one Draco Malfoy. Harry was still working through the feelings and thoughts that Draco had shared with him through the pensive, for they had assaulted him with an intensity of despair that matched his own.

But what gave him the most to think about was Draco's final epiphany, the idea of a uniquely human power to reject the meaninglessness of this world and the passage of time. The power to create, in the bonds forged between two people, enough meaning and care to last a lifetime.

In his time alone Harry had brooded long into the weak hours of the night, battling back and forth with himself on this very thing. Several times he had given up on the entire effort to defeat Voldemort, giving in to the existential truth of reality. He had wallowed in filth to liken the despair. Then, as he would lay there in the cold darkness, listening as the rain began to fall outside his sheet metal hermitage, he would feel again the weight of Malfoy's body pressed against his back. He would feel again the strong pulse that had beat in time with his own, calling to him in the most ancient language of blood and flesh.

As he looked across the table at the blond, who smiled as he talked to his mother about the old bathrooms at the manor, Harry could not reconcile him with the Malfoy he had known for so long. The long dimple that ran from the inner corner of his eye to the edge of his cheek was the same when he was smiling as it was when he was sneering. But his eyes held such a warmth that Harry had only ever seen on that one night that they lay on their first night together.

Seeing this, here and now, facing the stark reality of Malfoy's new self, Harry could believe it. How could he not believe it when Malfoy turned just a little and his hair shone like white gold set aflame in the sunlight? But this was not enough when Harry was alone and undistracted by the way Malfoy's cheeks flushed red with blood against his pale ivory skin.

There was still a large part of himself that could not believe that Malfoy had changed, despite what the shared memory had shown him. Harry knew all too well how fleeting such ideas could be, no matter how powerful and irrevocable they may be, no matter if they felt like rock beneath your feet. It was just the right gust of wind and you would be carried off to somewhere new, and how long would it take Voldemort to find the breeze that would bring Malfoy back to kneel before his feet?

Harry blew the steam from his steeping tea and watched it swirl and dissipate, and it was that simple. Just a breath, and he couldn't trust him. They would have their little talk, and he would be nice, but Malfoy was going to have to do a hell of a lot more than try to give him their only blanket to convince Harry that a bond between them would be strong and lasting. He watched as Malfoy set down his tea, and saw the glisten on his red lips, their slight pucker as he sat back in his chair. Harry felt again the memory of Malfoy's pulse, and he could see it now coursing through Malfoy's innocent lips and he knew that Malfoy meant his offer of friendship to be genuine. It may not be so as time passed, but Harry felt compelled to give it a chance.

Dumbledore was watching him with a calm smile on his face, but Harry could feel his eyes as though they were probing his very soul. And though he knew Dumbledore would have him throw his heart out to everyone that bothered to hold the door for him, he felt he was being sufficiently charitable to Draco, and sent this thought across the space between them. The elder wizard turned away with his usual knowing twinkle, and Harry felt a calm he had not felt in weeks as he turned the deep amber of his tea to his mouth.

"Brace yourself Harry, Arthur Weasley may or may not have asked me if I knew anything about the destruction of a muggle warehouse late last night." Said Dumbledore quietly, taking Harry by surprise.

Harry saw Malfoy raise a questioning eyebrow in his direction, but he merely turned away from them all and smiled, imaging Mr. Weasley's astonished face when Dumbledore told him of Harry's magical outburst.

As if on cue, Harry heard several loud cracks, the noise rising to a compounding cacophony as it appeared the entire Weasley family had apparated onto the front porch. Dumbledore chuckled and flicked his wand in the direction of the door, and Harry braced himself as he heard thunderous footsteps race down the hall.

He stood up just as Ron barreled around the corner, breathless. "Blimey, Harry, you're back!" He rushed to embrace him in a hug, that was soon added to as Hermione caught up to Ron's long legs. The three of them stood there, Hermione and Ron giggling with happiness, and Harry relishing in the warmth of his friendship. It had taken him several years to get over a childhood of never being touched, but now Harry did not shy away, even as Ginny came to join them. Finally, after far too soon a time they stepped back to allow Harry room to breathe.

A stern look suddenly crossed Hermione's face, and she turned her scowl to Harry, putting her hands on her hips. "Harry James Potter, if you ever do that again, so help me Merlin you will find yourself on the wrong end of the most powerful jelly legs jinx you've ever seen. Won't be running off on your own again after that, it's a promise."

"Yes thanks Mum, I shant ever leave you again." Said Harry with a mock pleading tone.

"Now Harry, you be nice! We've all been worried sick about you." Mrs. Weasley came to stand beside Hermione, and after a few moments of silence, the group could not help but burst out laughing as the two stood there, tense with their bushy hair and identical stance.

In their distraction, none of them noticed Dumbledore charming the length of the table, but soon they all turned to face him as he asked Narcissa if she could fetch a bit more food for everyone. The Weasley's chorused the obligatory "we've already eaten", but Narcissa shushed them with a wave of her hand and turned quickly into the kitchen.

They settled themselves down at the table, Ron and Hermione flanking Harry. Mrs Weasley sat down in her chair tentatively, wringing her hands and looking as awkward as Harry had ever seen her. Eventually, after a tense silence she stood up abruptly and went to the kitchen, muttering something about helping.

Harry smiled, musing on the predictability of the people he considered as close as family. He saw Draco eyeing the curtain suspiciously, and Harry wondered who on the other side, the blond was concerned about. Several minutes later the two women emerged from the kitchen, chatting excitedly about the efficacy of Narcissa's warming charms, that had apparently kept the extra food warm in anticipation of their arrival.

Molly and Narcissa spent the rest of the breakfast talking about various cooking charms that were passed around in pureblood families, occasionally laughing about disasters that had been wrought by a particularly finicky spell. It was, however, becoming very common for Harry to barely perceive any of the discussion around him, and he was yet again becoming very hot under the collar. Though he had forgotten some of his brooding thoughts as he was embraced by his friends, as they sat quietly around him he felt the air growing very close about him. It was primarily Ron's presence that disturbed him.

In the long nights that he had spent alone, Harry's mind had been visited many times by the rogue image of Malfoy's naked body beside him in the bath, and though it also brought with it the terrible image of steel gray betrayed, Harry could do nothing to stem the tide of trickling fire that would spread from the depths of his loins. He had spent many weeks being taunted by his cousin for murmuring Cedric's name in the night, and had vehemently denied Dudley's digs at his sexuality in the typical homophobic tone that pervaded the muggle world. It had never really occurred to him that he might be gay, he'd always just considered his appreciation of the male body to be purely an aesthetic sensibility.

Now, as he faced the prospect of discussing his uncertain sexual nature with his closest, oldest, and first real friend in the world, it was a daunting task that settled queasy tentacles about his shoulders. Stewing a bit in his uncomfortable thoughts, Harry eventually decided to discover some sort of certainty about himself before passing it on to Ron, but resolved at least to tell Hermione some of what he was feeling. He caught her eyeing him with a smirk on her face, and knew that she probably already had some idea of what he was thinking about, but half convinced himself that she was just happy to have him back.

Taking a quieting breath, he readied himself for the onslaught of Quidditch analysis he was about to solicit from Ron, and before he knew it he had lost himself in a dramatic retelling of the debut game with the Chudley Cannon's newest seeker. Time passed so quickly that Harry found himself suddenly hugging the Weasley's goodbye, promising to come to dinner at the Burrow later in the evening.

In the wake of their absence Harry came slowly from a blissful trance that left a lingering warmth about him, and he only just then noticed that the tingle on the nape of his neck was due to the staring of a certain blond from across the table. For the first time in nearly twenty minutes, Harry took note of Draco and looked him in the eye. Malfoy saw this and turned away instantaneously to examine the hem of his napkin. Harry watched as the lithe fingers pulled at the fraying edge of the fabric, noting the healthy sheen of Malfoy's manicured nails. Before he could stop himself, he was imagining Malfoy's same delicate tugs pulling at the wild tangles of his own hair, and could practically feel the hypnotic waves of pleasure as they crept across his skull and into the base of his neck.

Rather than trying to deny himself this mental pleasure, he merely sighed and moved on to try and pinpoint when exactly this whole attraction had started. He admitted it was an attraction, and hoped that if he could find its origin he could calm it down enough for him to make his decision on whether or not the blond was trust worthy.

Harry had felt it grow stronger in the long days he had spent alone roaming the dark alley's of London, but far from being a completely unfamiliar feeling as he had once thought, Harry realized that his attraction for Malfoy, not just men in general, extended quite far back.

It would be subtle things, small mannerisms that he would pick up on whenever Malfoy didn't notice Harry's presence. They way he would tuck his long locks behind his ear as he bent over a cauldron in intense concentration, or the graceful way Draco would twirl a quill between his long aristocratic fingers. Sometimes he would even let the long sable feather ghost against his lips, but for some reason Harry had never really caught himself noticing these things about the boy.

It was perhaps that full appreciation of these traits escaped him and hid behind the layers of hatred that he had always allowed to filter his perception of Malfoy. And now that he was cautiously beginning to disentangle himself from their deeply rooted holds, Harry could see the beauty that had always been before his very eyes.

The fact that there had always been some undercurrent of attraction between them bolstered Harry's confidence that perhaps the tentative bond between them could grow into something strong. Someday, he would get over the physical effects of Malfoy's presence and then they could begin their friendship proper. Until then was Malfoy's opportunity to prove himself redeemed from his life of darkness and servitude.

Harry felt a sense of calm spread like the warm caress of the sun on his bare skin, warming and numbing away all the stress that he had been accumulating about his mind. Finally after months of loneliness and torment he had returned to a state of relative peace. He had the prospect of a long awaited friendship ahead of him, and though he still hadn't truly banished his lack of faith in the power of love, slowly he was allowing the distraction of humanity to creep back into his life. And right now he was tired of being the misanthrope, so he steadied himself with a deep breath and leapt back into it.

"Did Hermione say anything about coming back later to work on the pensive, professor?" said Draco as he took his last sip of tea.

"No I do not think she did, Draco. Perhaps it is for the better though, to let the memory rest a bit. I hear you did quite a bit of damage to yesterday." Dumbledore smiled across the table at the blond, who looked away with a profuse blush creeping across his cheeks. Harry was too busy blushing in his own right to notice; Of course the second he was ready to be social again, Malfoy had to go and bring up something like that.

"It's just, I can't help but wonder who it was. Why wouldn't they want credit for something so marvelous?"

"Sometimes the role of the hero is played unwillingly, Draco. Isn't that right Harry?" Draco looked slightly mollified by Harry's subtle nod.

"Still, you would think they would at least let me know who they are. They don't have to go writing to the prophet, I'm not saying that. But don't you think I should have the opportunity to at least thank the man who saved my life?" He grew quiet when no one answered his question, even Narcissa simply held her mug in her hands and smiled.

After a moment he continued, "And what's more, the world deserves to know how to conjure a Patronus like that, it's inhumane, this not being able to feel happiness."

"It happened to you too?" Harry's sudden volume startled even him, but Malfoy had no chance to answer for at that very moment a small owl zoomed into the kitchen and landed clumsily by Malfoy, nearly falling off the dark wood in its attempt to deliver its letter.

Mafloy hesitantly took the letter from the excitable owl, grimacing as Pigwidgeon visibly shook with anticipation. The blond flicked open the letter with practiced fingers, a movement that Harry relished and didn't even bother to regret.

Draco read the letter quickly, letting out a gasping breath which turned into a smile as he read it through to the end. He stood up hastily, and walked out of the room, presumably to answer the letter which Harry suspected was from Hermione.

"What have they been doing while I was- while I was gone?" Asked Harry after getting over the shock of knowing that Malfoy could no longer feel happiness.

"It seems who ever saved him, also obliviated his memory, as you may have gathered, but it seems they did so half heartedly at best."

"Then they're trying to break through to the original memory? How much progress have they made? Do they have any idea who did it?"

"Yes, they are attempting to locate the spell signature of the caster. But I don't know how much luck they'll have, locating his savior, even if they mange to get his signature, there is no guarantee that the ministry will have it on record."

"They can't actually dispel the fog without the caster?"

"No, Harry, they cannot. And I suspect Malfoy won't truly begin to recover the other aspects of his memory until its gone. You remember what happened to Sirius don't you? It took him weeks to regain some of his happiest times."

Dumbledore was eyeing him again, so Harry straightened up and looked him in the eye. "I suppose you'll want to know what happened that night, professor?"

"Oh, it is no great mystery. Should you wish to talk about it we should certainly do so, but that can wait till later. It's far too early in the morning for such things, don't you agree?"

Narcissa set down her mug with force, and seemed startled out of intense concentration by the noise. She looked around at the both of them with wide eyes. Harry surmised that she had been hoping to hear what had happened to her son, as any worried mother might, but he was unsure of how he felt about telling her anything. Yes she had been more than gracious, but she hadn't been born into a life of darkness as Malfoy had, she had chosen it. This was something that could not be so easily forgiven, no matter how much she claimed to have switched sides.

"Er, yes professor." He reached up to stroke the hair out of his eyes, his face feeling hot under Narcissa's gaze. "About the occlumency lessons from Malfoy, I don't - I don't know if I'm entirely comfortable with that."

"Well I shouldn't think so. It is very rare to come across a person so unashamed that they would let all the world peer into their mind. But life, alas, is not about being comfortable. I have no doubt that the prospect of Lord Voldemort entering your mind is perhaps just tad worse than Malfoy?"

"Yes, professor."

"Not to worry though, I told you I would get you started along the right path, and I mean to stand by my word. I expect you and Malfoy wont be starting until the beginning of term."

"I know it took me months to make any sort of progress with Snape, but I think….with a proper teacher I could do better."

"Professor Snape, Harry. And don't worry yourself about when term starts. On that note, I have received the final supply requests from our professors, so your owl's should be arriving tomorrow."

"I wasn't - what do you mean? it's only the end of July... And are you really going to go through the trouble of owling me my letter?"

"Tradition Harry, and on that note, Happy Birthday."

The slow sputtering gurgle of surprise that was becoming somewhat habitual for Harry manifested itself again. How was he to have conversations with people if half of what he said was spittle and loud huffs? This was what Harry asked himself several minutes later as he sat around the now empty kitchen table, fingering the small package that Dumbledore had given him.

It was an odd thing, to be given a present and told at the same time not to open it until he needed someone to confide in. The present was wrapped in beautiful blue and turquoise, that seemed to be made of infinitesimally small strands of an iridescent material that looped and swirled about itself like the so many glowing strands of Harry's protective wards. He lost himself in their slow undulating forms for the better part of a few minutes, before realizing that both Dumbledore and Narcissa had left.

He could hear the soft clanking that came muffled from beyond the curtain that meant Narcissa was busying herself with the dishes. As he moved to sit in one of the comfy lounge chairs that sat in soft glow of the little sun room that adjoined the dinning room, he couldn't help but think this really was a time that he needed to confide in someone. He fingered the velvety bow that encircled the small heavy thing, figuring it was some sort of diary and wondering if Dumbledore had imbued it with any magical properties.

Slipping a finger under the edge of the wrapping, Harry coaxed out the small book with great care, endeavoring to save the wrappings for something. It was a beautiful thing, dark bound leather inlaid with gold and emerald patterns of vaguely Celtic feeling. They seemed to turn and twist as he looked at them, pulsing and knotting themselves in impossible ways.

Seeming to sense that fact that he might just sit and stare at it all day, the gold clasp unlocked under the touch of his finger, and flipped gracefully open to the first page. At the same moment a tuft of beautiful white appeared from the spine, and Harry grasped at it to pull out a long regal quill. He twirled it in his hands, marveling at the softness and the balance, before turning to wait expectantly for a pot of ink to jump out of some secret compartment.

When it did not come he flicked his wand and summoned a pot of ink from upstairs, the small bit of magic causing him to remember to ask Dumbledore about something. It wasn't technically his birthday until later that evening, and he needed to know why the hell the ministry wasn't breathing down his neck over the numerous and severe cases of underage magic he had been doing recently.

Dipping the long white plumage into well, Harry pulled it out and examined the tip with some confusion. Several times more he slipped it into inky darkness only to pull it forth white and virginal as he had first found it. Sighing, Harry let the quill fall despondently from his hands, clearly it was not the right time to begin using the diary. But as the quill splayed itself on the page, a smattering of opalescent ink appeared at its tip.

He was mesmerized by the dark emerald and red colors that came together to form the rich dark words that he was now writing with great excitement. For the most part, the next five minutes were spent writing trite nonsense, simply so he could see the marvelous magic and playful swirl of the colors. After he got over the initial interest in the thing, he sat back, unsure of just what exactly he wanted to write about.

At that moment Malfoy came rustling into the room, and stood awkwardly by the door, watching Harry from a distance. Looking rather sneaky, he shuffled sidelong into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off Harry. But even as he did so, Harry couldn't help but take in every subtle movement and shift of weight that took the blond lithely past the curtain.

A list. He had to make a list. Write out his feelings about Malfoy on parchment, to make concrete the nebulous thoughts that swam about his mind like the shimmering ink that flowed from the tip of his quill.

1. Malfoy apologized for everything.

He had already begun forming the next line of his list, but suddenly Harry felt a strange compulsion. Before he knew it, he was writing something else beneath the thin script.

And what the hell is that supposed to mean? You can't just up and apologize for six years of loathing and contempt so intense it would make the Dursley's proud.

2. I feel pity for him.

Maybe its not his fault that he was who he was. It doesn't excuse him, but maybe that means his isn't rotten to the core. After all, none of us are born good or evil right?

Voldemort.

Harry was rather startled by the sudden writing of this word, unaware that he had made a connection between Malfoy and Tom Riddle.

When I saw him, sitting alone at the Slytherin table, despondent and adrift, I couldn't help but pity him. Perhaps it is my incessant Gryffindor need to save everyone, but I felt, and still feel, the need to help him. And sometimes he would just sit for hours in the library, not really reading, just sitting by the window looking out onto the lake. I think perhaps he was afraid to go back to the common room, afraid to face his friends, if they could still be called that.

Quidditch, Neville.

Somehow, Draco had broken his arm and several ribs during Quidditch practice. Though he swore vehemently that he had merely fallen off his broom, the sinister smiles that graced the rest of the team for nearly a week afterwards told Harry otherwise. Neville had been assigned detention with Madame Pomfrey for trying to raise Screaming Curttlewort in one of the less used boy's lavatories, and he said that not once did any of Malfoy's Slytherin cronies come to visit him.

And I thought I was lonely.

Harry watched the dark dot sink into the paper at the end of sentence, feeling slightly odd and noting that he had written more than he had anticipated. It wasn't his intention to write more than just a list, and though part of him wanted to keep writing, he could feel thoughts mulling about in his subconsciousness that he wasn't ready for this early in the morning.

3. I am attracted to him.

And there it was, that ghastly realization that was sweet and terrible all at once. He quickly scribbled underneath it, almost fighting himself to keep from unleashing a deluge of observations on just how attractive the proud git was. This last thought led him to his next point, and he bull rushed through the compulsion to write about point number three.

4. I don't trust him.

He may have betrayed his father and everything he once stood for by failing to assassinate Dumbledore, but fear makes people capable of anything, right?

Harry wasn't sure who he was asking, but somehow the last two times he'd finished a thought in the diary, he felt again the weird compulsion to write, which had this far culminated in the revelation of several subconscious links.

Peter Pettigrew

Yes, that lying bastard is afraid of Voldemort too. One of their closest friends, and he couldn't even resist the power of Dark magic. He chopped off his own fucking finger and lived as a rat for eleven years out of fear. And out of pure fear he returned to the vile creature of a master. If we could've captured Voldemort while he was still weak, we'd just have to keep him prisoner until all the Horcruxes were found. Instead we are all in greater mortal peril than ever before, and Dumbledore is only alive because Malfoy just barely realized that he was more afraid of dying alone and friendless in the dark.

The only reason he is here, in this house, is because he is afraid of death, and Dumbledore is just his latest pair of legs to cower behind. You can dress it up in fancy clothes and parade it about in all your high strung emotions, Malfoy, but that doesn't change the fact that you are just distracting yourself from your fear.

Dumbledore, love.

Well fuck that. The diary apparently wasn't getting what it wanted from him, and he shut it with a loud clap and looked resolutely out of the window. He wasn't sure what kind of subtle magic Dumbledore had worked on the thing, but now that the cover was closed, and the quill stowed back in the binding, he no longer felt a weird itching in the deep layers of his mind.

So Malfoy was his little gryffindor pity project, and even though he was probably only playing the part of goody two shoes until Harry was no longer a distraction, Dumbledore would have him ignore this fact and see it as an opportunity to save him from darkness.

Harry sighed and soon lost himself tracing the twisting trellis flowers that grew only feet from his head, outside in the private magic of the garden. If he listened hard he could almost hear the fuzzy white noise of the neighbor's television, but it was so faint he could have just been imagining it. He saw shadows creeping slowly across the green space, noting that clouds were once again rolling in to snuff out the few nice days of weather they had been having. He turned his head into the room, which seemed to lift up and grow quiet without the harsh but beautiful light of the sun.

The corners and the dark underside of the table made the whole thing simpler to look at, and it was at that moment that Draco Malfoy chose to enter the room, the light from the kitchen ruffling a small halo through his hair and playing a soft sparkle on the silk brocade pajamas that he was still wearing. The two soft fabrics, Draco's pajamas, and the kitchen curtain, rubbed against each other with a quiet, decadent sound, and Harry was very sure that all of the furniture in his future home would be deeply embroidered and ornate.

As he looked into Malfoy's eyes, still full of light silver despite the darkness, he was struck with visions of the regal blond sitting royally splayed across half a dozen pillows and pulling seductively at the silken fabric that clung just ever so slightly at his pale expanse of milk white flesh.

There had been others before who had struck Harry's fancy, but never before had his mind been so apt at producing such vivid fantasies. There was something different about his attraction to Malfoy that made it seem both the easiest most natural thing in the world, and also incredibly, unnaturally, uncontrolled.

Malfoy hesitated for a moment, as if about to speak, but closed his mouth and licked a small tongue across the bottom of his deep red lips instead. Needless to say, Harry was not really disappointed that Malfoy had decided not to say anything.

-oooo-

Harry found himself, many hours later, sitting alone in the bedroom. He had gathered about himself the majority of Hermione's books on obliviation, and they now rose up about him in a great wall. As he looked up to take in the sight of the falling sun, Harry was startled to find that he could no longer see the window from behind his barrier.

As he began to disassemble the mess of literature, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint of golden light that revealed to him the presence of Malfoy. It became all to clear why he had been subtly and subconsciously piling up the books about himself.

He had come in several hours ago to scour the pages for a way to remove the blond's partial obliviation, and he wondered how long the object of his study had been sitting so close to him. As he watched, Malfoy reached a hand up to tuck a silky lock behind his ear, a movement that Harry saw in exquisite detail. There was a gentleness about the boy when he was unguarded and unwatched, a fresh youthfulness that Harry wondered how many people had ever seen. He was reminded of their first night together, and the small smile, the flash of happiness that had come to him across the darkness of coming sleep, to shine in his dreams for days.

He had almost forgotten about it, but it came back to him now as Malfoy looked up at him with a smile that could have been its double. "Have you been here long Potter?" The tone of Malfoy's voice was playful, but it was hard for Harry to be startled out of his introspection by anyone without getting kind of grumpy, and the fact that it was Malfoy did not help at all.

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Someone is cranky."

"Someone, is trying to help you. So stop being an ingrate and help me sort these books out."

Instead of replying Malfoy merely made dramatic blabbing movements with his mouth, mocking Harry as he made to help. After a few minutes they'd sorted the books out, brushing hands more than once, and giving Malfoy the opportunity to laugh quietly at the way Harry tensed when they did so.

The night that Malfoy had arrived on the doorstep of number four privet drive, his submissiveness and general lack of snobbish airs had unnerved Harry. And though Malfoy was not being malicious in his mocking, his confidence and the casual way he was breathing now was too close to his former self.

"How long have you been here anyway, Malfoy?" There was a slight acidity to his tone that he had not really meant, and hoped Malfoy wouldn't catch.

"No need to be so testy Potter, and I've been here for hours, nearly as long as you have." He said, gesturing behind him to the room, now bereft of his various aristocratic accouterments. "I took the time to finally finish sorting through my things."

"What's that then?" said Harry, who had noticed the small silver medallion clutched in Malfoy's hand.

The blond seemed startled, as if he did not realized he had been holding the thing, and held it up to the light, smiling morosely and looking a bit misty. "It's nothing Potter, just a childhood memory."

"Is it a good one?"

"No, it isn't a bloody good one you fool, and even if it was I haven't got any of those left anyway." Spat Malfoy, and fixed Harry with one of his icy stares that looked daggers into Harry's chest.

Harry's voice was only slightly shaky when he spoke, normal enough, he hoped, for Malfoy not to suspect anything. "It's not my fault, so what are you getting all angry at me for?"

"You're the one who got all angry at me for sitting in my own room!"

"This isn't your room Malfoy, it's mine. And it was Ron's too, before you came."

Malfoy didn't reply, but merely huffed in a mollified sort of way and crossed his arms. It was familiar, this bickering, and Harry couldn't help but admit it lit a fire inside him and he enjoyed it for the game that it was. Though where before it had been just routine loathing, there was something new in the mix, an undercurrent of desperation, as if there weren't just merely having a tiff, but fighting, fighting for something more.

Malfoy was standing by the window now, and the downward curve of his shoulders was the same as the day he had slipped defeated from the hospital wing after apologizing to Harry. The guilt that lay upon his own shoulder's, stemming from his actions on a particular night not three weeks ago, doubled in size as it combined with the still lingering guilt from the hospital wing.

Even though Malfoy seemed to have accepted his apology, Harry felt he still hadn't truly made it up to him. He had seemed defeated and alone for the rest of the term, and Harry knew that his rage had been the final blow that broke down the icy armor that the blond had once worn.

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I was just surprised that you were in here is all. I really don't mind at all that you are staying here, I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did, but that's all right. I never really considered the Mansion my home anyway, so it's not like I'm really missing anything terribly."

Somehow, in the course of their conversation Malfoy had gone from playful and mocking, to sad and morose, and now finally he was becoming open and gentle; a prospect that both frightened and intrigued Harry. Malfoy's admission struck a painful chord in Harry's chest, who had also never really considered anywhere but Hogwarts home. And Malfoy probably didn't even think of the castle that way, so he was truly alone. Friendless and homeless.

There was a strange new part of Harry that desperately wished to do something romantic and cliché at this moment; it wished to go over to Malfoy and wrap his arms gently around the lonely creature, and whisper sweet words of comfort until the sun had long set around the both of them. But instead he backed slowly towards the door, and muttered something about needing a break from studying.

"So you're going to help us then?"

"Yes." Said Harry softly, as he slunk out the door and turned, only just managing to catch the gleaming eyes that watched him go. They were full of hope, and drew the breath from Harry's lungs in a wind.

-oooo-

"Harry, I was beginning to think you would never come."

"I'm sorry sir, you were expecting me?"

"Well yes, you don't remember? We arranged to meet here, in the drawing room, approximately an hour after breakfast."

"You're kidding! I'm sorry sir, I've been a bit distracted today."

Dumbledore chuckled his characteristic knowing chuckle, and gave Harry the knowing twinkle in his eye. They were dependable, these little mannerisms that the old man had acquired over his great lifetime. Even the little gesture that told Harry to come and sit with him by the fireplace.

"I assume you are enjoying your present then?"

"It is….odd, professor. It feels like I'm writing from a deeper part than what I'm thinking at the moment."

"I have been alive for a very long time Harry." Dumbledore paused here, to look at Harry, unnecessarily checking to see if he was paying attention. "And after these long years I would like to think that I have learned some things about the world, about myself. It is a curious thing, but often I have found it hardest to tell the truth to myself." At this he paused again and raised his eyebrow at Harry, who tried very hard not blush and instead began to play with the frilly edge of his armrest.

"May I speak freely for a moment, professor?"

"I should hope it is never otherwise with us, Harry, a great many things depend on that. But I think what you are going to say has something to do with our last little chat does it not? Well, before you begin, let me make it easier on you by saying first of all that I am not angry, nor disappointed in the least." Dumbledore clasped his hands in his lap, and looked smilingly at Harry, who could not have been more shocked.

"When we're sitting here, when I'm with people, and I think about him; the fact that someday one of us will have to kill the other, I don't feel alone. But in the end it has to be me, it can only be me that kills him. I will be alone against him. No friends by my side, in the final darkness."

Dumbledore rose and went to stand by one of the long windows, seeming to look out over the tree tops to some far off place that Harry desperately wished he could go too. He been calm up until this point, and firm in his resolution that Dumbledore would respect his unfaith in love, but some part of his anxiety was creeping back.

"Tell me Harry, do you see this squirrel on the window sill?" Harry followed the outstretched hand to see the small bushy animal, chewing contently on a walnut that was clutched in its tiny raking hands. "Do you think it ever ponders the coming of its death? The final institution of its mortality?"

Harry looked deep into the dark pools of empty thought, glistening as they barreled forwards into the space of his consciousness and filled it with a deep animal disinterest. "No, sir."

"But when it hears the screech of the hawk, do you not think its heart is clutched by the abject fear of death? Whether or not it truly understands what that means, you cannot deny that there is fear."

"No sir, you cannot."

"One last point, and then you can tell me other the other things you have swimming about your mind. It is the thing that, in varying degrees separates us from that squirrel, for though it may feel on the surface things such as contentment and fear, it cannot possibly comprehend death with the depth that we do. And though sometimes it seems the depressing realization that life in death is meaningless, along with that depth we posses a corresponding joy. We posses among all other animals the awareness, the self awareness that enables us to see just what it is this miracle of life we are living. How lucky we are to be alive, no matter the consequence."

The was a long moment, after which Harry finally said, "I know that, but you see when I'm alone all these truths are weak. They can't sustain me."

Dumbledore turned in a dramatic flurry of robes, to face Harry as the setting sun burned bright through the long stretched purple of the clouds and back lit the tiny orbs of dust floating quiet in the room. He said, in a hushed but hurried voice, "That's it then. The answer. Do not be alone Harry Potter, you needn't ever be. This time that you share with me, and that you will share with others, this time is ours and it is forever. It will always be here for you to return to when you need it most."

And in that moment, Harry Potter knew it to be true.


	10. Bane

So… it's been awhile. To say I have been busy to would be an understatement. I've also been in a weird funk mentally, that isn't bad, just not good for getting things done.

I don't blame you if you've lost interest at this point. But I think, for those of you that can hang in there for the long haul, it will be great. :|

It's summer now, so once I get used to being productive these will come faster. Again, I apologize for leaving this hanging for so long.

-ooo-

Dinner, as it turned out, was actually just a code word for one of the biggest birthday parties Harry had ever had. The Weasley's had truly out done themselves in decorating for his arrival. The small copse of trees and garden bushes that surrounded the house were strung and lit up with all manner of lanterns and fairy lights. The decorations were such that the space was lit up with a soft golden and blushed light that seemed to hang in the air.

A tent large enough for the whole party to fit snugly inside was erected just to the side of the house, and as the four from Grimmauld walked slowly around the corner, Harry was overcome by the scent of food that was wafting thickly from the open curtains. Harry had rarely smelled so many delicious things coming from such a small space before in his life. It was as if the entire Hogwarts feast had been crammed into the tent. Momentarily transfixed by the smell, and clutching his raging stomach, Harry nearly got the wind knocked out of him as Hermione embraced him roughly for the second time that day.

"Oh my goodness Harry I am so glad you're finally here! I've been going out of my mind with excitement!" The hurried way in which she was speaking told Harry there was a great amount of truth in her words. "You have no idea how relieved I was at breakfast when you asked Ron about Quidditch, I thought I was going to die! I was just so relieved that you were back, and I nearly told you about five times."

Harry merely smiled and hugged her again, before they were joined yet again by Ron and Ginny. As Harry felt himself led into the tent, he was assaulted by Fred and George, though not necessarily in that order, who could tell? As always, they thanked him profusely for the start up money he had given them for their jokeshop, and cocked their heads in unison to a large brightly colored box that could just be seen over the top of the hedges. They held their fingers to their mouths and slipped away just as their mother came over.

After embracing him warmly, she stepped back to say, "So happy you could make it dear! Did they tell you anything? I know they are up to something, those two."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the worried way she was wringing her hands, and moved to the left just ever so slightly, blocking the obnoxiously colored box from her view. She narrowed her eyes but was distracted before she could read his face any further when Arthur Came over to clap Harry on the shoulder.

He leaned in close to Harry's ear, as he had done on many occasions, and Harry prepared himself for Mr. Weasley's annual ministerial debriefing. To be led into the tent, only to be led out was rather an odd thing, but Harry didn't mind all the hassling, he was still warm at the thought of having such a large celebration in his honor.

"So, Harry, I trust that the ministry won't need to worry about you when you get to Hogwarts, but until then… I'm not supposed to tell you this Harry, but I think it's important for you to know, incase you think about… well, anyway, those two men who were found chained up in the restroom entrance, we've confirmed that they are Death Eaters." Mr. Weasley looked around nervously as he finished, probably on the lookout for someone like Rita Skeeter.

Again, Harry found himself smiling, something that seemed to confuse Mr. Weasley. "I know, sir."

"You what? Blimey! It's true then, you were the one who did it? They took what seemed to be your spell signature off the crime scene, but the department of underage wizardry couldn't find any corresponding reports from your trace so we just dismissed the idea all together. Which brings me to my second point this evening, Harry. I spoke to Dumbledore early this morning, after we received intelligence concerning a massive eruption of magic in the London docks. He was particularly elusive, and suggested I speak to you for further information." He paused here, and looked Harry sternly in the face, moving to hold his shoulders.

"Now, I trust Dumbledore with nearly every fibre of my being, but cannot fathom why he would bring you along to such an event. The magic was too entangled to see who did what, and from what we detected, it wasn't necessarily dark, but we can only assume this had something to do with Death Eaters."

Harry was very glad in that he had grown a bit since the last time they stood this way, so he didn't have to look up at the balding man so much. He looked a little more haggard than the last time Harry had seen him this close, a dullness in the eyes that told him Mr. Weasley was working a little more than he ought to.

"Well, actually Mr. Weasley, Only Dumbledore and I were there last night. I - well you see I was a bit paranoid, and I may have gotten a bit carried away. I thought I was about to die, it all just sort of came out on autopilot or something, I can't really explain what happened." Harry bit his lip as he looked up at the man who was something of a father to him.

"Autopilot? Is that like a cab driver or something? Are you telling me muggles were involved too? Merlin."

"No, no Mr. Weasley, I'm saying that my magic just reacted instinctively to my believing I was going to die. That's why there is a huge crater in the doorway to that warehouse... I made it. Do you understand?"

For once Harry was on the receiving end of the sputtering, and though he though for an instant of the carnal feelings he had channeled that night, he quickly moved on to take pride in the pure shock that befell Mr. Weasley's face.

"You're - you're kidding! Merlin's beard Harry we haven't recorded magic on a scale such as that since, since well, Dumbledore and Grindlewald. If you're telling me the truth you are one solid bit of magic Mr. Potter, Voldemort be damned, it's you we should be worried about!"

Mr. Weasley was so caught up in his astonishment that he didn't even realize he had said the Dark Lord's name aloud, and quickly clapped a hand to his mouth.

"I'm sorry Harry, only joking, we know you're not, well - you better get back to the party, or the women will have my head" He gave Harry the briefest of smiles before he set off into the darkness around the other side of the tent, visibly winded.

After taking in a few sweet breaths of the flowery night air, Harry stepped back under the tent flap and made his way directly for the food table, to Mrs. Weasley's palpable joy. He moved to sit next to Hermione, his hands laden with heaping plates of food, and two more floating obediently in the air behind him.

"Harry! What are you doing, you wont be seventeen for almost an hour! Do you want the ministry to crash your birthday party?"

"Relax Hermione, do you honestly think I made it on my own for three weeks without magic?"

Harry knew the sound of her fork hitting the table meant she was gearing up for some calculation, and sure enough, as he looked up he face was set, and her eyes were darting around as sorted things out in her mind.

"He suppressed the trace, Dumbledore. Didn't he?"

"Uh, yes he did. Though I only found out just a little bit ago. Things would have been so much easier if only he'd told me."

"Harry what happened…"

Her voice trailed off as he looked up from cutting into a decadent slice of pork tenderloin, "Not tonight Hermione, its my birthday."

She bit her lip and nodded solemnly, the fierceness in her gaze told him this discussion was not over. Harry turned instead to professor Lupin who was deep in a hushed conversation with Tonks. It was obvious that they were intending to keep the discussion quiet, if Lupins hushing hand motions were to be believed, but Tonks was quickly losing her temper.

"You need this Lupin, I don't care if it sets us back a few months! I knew this was going to happen eventually, and I accepted that reality a long time ago."

"I will not let you sacrifice all that we have saved for this Nymphadora! I can handle it this month, and in the mean time we can try to find someone else. I'm sure Dumbledore would do it if we asked."

"That man has enough on his plate already! We have enough to make through this month at least, didn't he give you any spare supply?"

"You know it doesn't keep, dear. We are going to find someone else, and until then I'm just going to have to bare it. That's my final word, and I don't want to hear anything more about it. It's Harry's birthday, we should be focusing on him."

Lupin turned to Harry, and gave him a wry smile, which grew wider as he saw the blank stare that Harry was giving the distance. As hard as he had tried, Harry couldn't help but listen, and he was almost sure he knew what they were talking about. Ofcourse, he should have known Lupin would be having trouble now that Snape wasn't able to be seen with the order. He was now racking his brain for anyone else he knew that could help, and barely noticed Lupin talking to him.

He did, however, notice when a great hush fell over the small tent. There was a clinking of forks and glasses, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Fred turn in his seat. Very distinctly could the flapping of the tent curtains, and the subtle whisper of the torches and rustle of the tree leaves be heard. All those in attendance also heard when Tonks whispered as quietly as possible. Harry could practically feel them all listening with every power of perception they possessed. Except for Dumbledore of course, he was smiling broadly, looking quite satisfied with everything, as always.

"What did you say?"

Malfoy looked suddenly very small, as if he was trying to pull himself in to escape the gazes of all the Weasley's. Though Harry knew all too well the pressure of attention he could not resist adding his own spotlight to the now blazing inferno that seemed to have sprung up around Malfoy. The boy looked as if he was about to ignite at any moment, and Harry had never seen anyone more nervous to speak. It made sense though, it was still audacious of him to be here in the presence of these people, much less speak to them.

"I said, I can make it. The wolfsbane." Molly cleared her throat, and abruptly everyone seemed to turn back to what ever it was they were doing. Though one could tell by their silence that they were still listening, it was only a feigned effort to give them privacy. There was hesitancy in Malfoy's eyes, as if he was unsure that he had correctly guessed what Lupin and Tonks had been discussing. Harry had also come to this very same conclusion, and he tried to catch Malfoy's eyes to reassure him, but the blond was now looking anywhere but in his direction.

"That's very kind of you Draco but we don't need you to trouble yourself over this. We'll be fine, I'm sorry you all had to see that." Tonks finished, speaking in most polite tones and looked apologetically around at all the Weasley's.

"Really though, it's no trouble at all. I've already -" Draco was leaning forward now, very intent on getting them to let him help. A gilded fire behind his eyes told Harry of this desperation, which he found admirable and unnerving all at once.

But Draco was not allowed to finish what ever appeal he was making because Ron had slammed his cup down on the table with force enough to break it. He was standing now, and visibly shaking. "They said," he drew this word out between his teeth with a deep sound, "they don't need your fucking help you scrawny little bint!"

There was a clatter of chairs as Malfoy rose to the guttural rage of Ron's voice, the fire in his eyes growing cold and piercing in an instant. Fred and George rose in the same instant and were nearly halfway to Malfoy. It seemed that the fact that the Malfoy's had changed their allegiance mattered to the Weasley's, about as much as it did the rest of the world.

Malfoy's eyes met Harry's, and in the infinite space that they shared for only an instant, Harry saw the pain and fear that Malfoy was feeling as if was written in crimson streaks across his skin. But then it was gone and Malfoy had apparated with a dramatic clap that sent a great wind throughout the tent, and blew his glass of pumpkin juice into both Harry and Ron.

Ron stormed out of the tent to go change his robes, despite the fact that magic might have cleaned them. Harry was surprised that for once he wasn't feeling the very same indignant rage as his friend, though it probably had something to do with the shame that came along with the remembrance of Malfoy's life mixing with terrible ease into the dirty bathroom water. He and Hermione caught up to Ron just as he reached his room, and Harry held his arm to keep him from shutting them out.

"Ronald Weasley! Would you mind telling me what that was all about." Hermione had a stormy look on her face that was met with a defeated and mollified look on Ron's, a simple dance that both of them had learned in their years of friendship.

"I just, I can't look at the fowl piece of shit without hating him. Thinking about all the things he's done over the years. And he thinks he can just waltz in here like nothing ever happened? I'm not going to stand by and give him the chance to poison Lupin. I saw the look in his eye! He was desperate."

"This is stupid Ron. How are people to change if we never give them the chance?"

"He. Tried. To. Kill. Dumbledore. No one can be forgiven for that."

"But that's the thing Ron, he didn't. Somehow Dumbledore made him see what it was to be strong, and to not let fear, or blind hatred," here she paused to shoot a dark look at Ron, " become the master of your life. I've been working with him these past few days, and he isn't who we thought he was. He's well - Harry what do you think?"

She turned to him, and Harry was met with the suddenly interested gaze of his two best friends, waiting expectantly as if his word was to be the final say in whether or not they should trust Malfoy. Well, Ron at least, Hermione seemed to already be well on her way to forming her own opinion of the boy.

"Well, I - er- fuck Hermione I don't know. I think, in some way, somehow, I've forgiven him for that. I don't know when that happened, but I wasn't angry at him just then. I think….I think he was really trying to help, Ron."

He looked up at them to feel a great weight lift of his chest, and realized that it was true, he really had forgiven Malfoy for trying to kill Dumbledore. There was still unexpected rage in Ron's face, and he twisted his shoulder roughly out of Harry's hand and slammed the door in their faces.

They heard a muffled coloportus, and then, "You're both fucking idiots!"

Hermione let out an exasperated gasp as she turned to Harry, "Don't mind him Harry, He'll come around eventually."

"Come around to what?"

"To you two being friends."

"Just because I've forgiven him doesn't mean I'm ready to be best mates, Hermione. I don't think that will ever happen."

"And why is that exactly? Because you don't want to be, or he doesn't"

Harry felt her probe with force, recoiling a bit. Trying to hide your thoughts from Hermione was like fencing with an angry bowtruckle, so he gave in to escape the pinpricks. "He's said things, about friendship. But He's only telling them to me because I was the only person around to listen." Harry knew that no one apparated under the bodybind curse, into the middle of the forest while it was storming for a convenient chat about friendship, but still some part of him could not accept that Malfoy was genuine.

Hermione was eyeing him with that glance of hers that meant she knew what was really happening, a look he often hated in the heat of the moment. Apparently today was a good day for new reactions, be cause he wasn't mad that she knew he wanted something with Malfoy, whether it was just genuine friendship or something more.

"I'm going to stay here and see if we can get our big baby to come out and join the rest of the party. Why don't you go see how Malfoy is doing?"

"But I don't know where he's gone. He could be anywhere."

"Oh really? Please, you boys are as predictable as the tides."

"What? They are not easy to predict. I mean if you're trying to get the time right, I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Hermione let out an amused chuckle, and took his hand, leading him to the top of the stairs, "Stop over thinking things Harry, just do what you feel."

"You're talking like I'm going to see my-" Hermione pushed him roughly, and he scowled at her as he turned slowly in the air, falling and thinking about the first place he thought Malfoy might be as he apparated away.

-oooo-

He felt the soft grass beneath his shoes, and bent down quickly to hide in the bushes to his right, looking up into the windows of the house that was slowly revealing itself from its neighbors. He didn't see a light on in his room, which meant maybe Malfoy might be trying to sleep, which was good because otherwise he might try to run again and they really needed to have that talk.

The guilt of what had truly happened that night, not a few hundred feet from where he now stood, weighed heavily on his shoulders, and made it very difficult to stand straight again. It was time to tell Malfoy. He hadn't quite figured out how he was going to restore the memories, but he was certainly going to give it a try.

Harry stuck to the shadows as he approached the house, desperately racking his brain to remember which steps and floor boards were the creakiest. He placed his hand on the ancient doorknob, a relic no doubt from an ancient dwelling place of the blacks. It's well worn workings moved silently his behest, and Harry felt and smelled the warm still darkness of the house rush past him to be free out in the wild night.

He crept along the walls, for the boards were most solid where they met the wall, until he reached the staircase. He placed his foot on the first step gingerly, and despite his paltry pressure it seemed determined to foil his plans and made a loud noise of protest. Harry heard the small creak careen out into the silent house like the wail of a banshee, and felt this whole body tense.

Finally, after a long held breath, Harry heard no noises, except the faint mumbling and shuffling of what he assumed was Kreacher complaining about the lack of the nasty accouterments that he had grown used to in his years of solitude.

He made his way up the rest of the steps, silent as a ghost, once again sticking close to the wall. He approached the large black door that led into his room, and felt a deep sense of foreboding, but also a measured amount of excitement. Finally, he was going to lay it bare before Malfoy, and they could be equal and he would have nothing to hide.

In the midst of all these feelings welling up inside him, and the deep tingles that were crawling up and down his spine and along his skin, He didn't realize that he had already opened the door (something he had hitherto imagined to be a very dramatic and cliché moment) and was making his way into the room. Inside the space held a warbling, tremulous feeling that encircled Harry the moment he crossed the doorway. He felt a tingle in the corner of his eye, and a great heaving lift up in his lungs and bring him crashing down upon the rocks of sadness that were standing jagged on the window bench were Malfoy's dark form broke against them in the cold, harsh moonlight.

Harry felt as though he was wading through a thick, dense, sea of despair as he made his way to Malfoy. Several times more he felt himself rise up on the crest of a wave in time with the quiet heaving of Draco's chest. Finally, as he was nearly an arms length from him in the icy dark waters, Malfoy turned to face him. The moon was shinning softly in the golden feather's of his hair, and his silver eyes shone out into the darkness, a beacon of pure light that held Harry aloft from the swelling sea and they stood locked in this gaze.

It was odd that Harry should be the one to lose himself in Malfoy's emotions, while the blond seemed to rise up solid and uncompromised. It was only by the tinge of red around the eyes, and the flush of red on his cheeks that Harry could tell he had been crying.

"You've come to berate me too then, Potter? I see you haven't brought the weasels or that mudblood with you, how very brave."

Any and all pity he had been harboring for Malfoy was gone in an instant, the sea of despair quickly coming to a boil as he whipped out his wand and advanced.

"You vile little twat! Expelliarmus!" A small burst of light shot out of his now outstretched wand towards the powerless boy who cowered against the glass.

In a graceful movement as quick as the rustling of his robes, Harry had the shaking little shit pressed up against the small glass, his long dark wand pressed menacingly against the smooth expanse of alabaster neck. Small spidery cracks began to appear on the warped surface of the window, fracturing ever so slightly at Harry's rage.

Harry could feel the uneven tremors that were coursing through Malfoy were they touched, He could feel the heat of his living through their closeness, and watched the blood course through the veins just beneath the surface of his skin. Malfoy's breath came hitched and uneasily, the sound drawing Harry's attention to his lips which were quivering in beautiful violence.

He followed their shivering up the perfect line of Draco's nose, to his eyes, bedecked in long shimmering gold lashes. He blinked once as Harry looked to his eyes, and Harry saw them open in a time beautifully stretched, so that he felt the full force of their revelation with exquisite pain. There was a tearful glisten that could not compare to the glisten inherent in the deep silver pools of sorrow and fear that wove a spell around Harry's chest and played his heartstrings with the same harmonious emotion that Harry had felt through the deep fibres of the door on that solemn night three weeks ago.

And then in an instant he remembered why he had come, and let the wand fall from Malfoy's throat.

"No, Malfoy. I did not come here to berate you. I came here to apologize."

"Apologize? For what?" The words were chocked, high, and thick with saliva. Their hurt tore at Harry's chest and he pulled himself back from Malfoy to gather the courage for his admission.

His saliva felt sweet in anticipation of his speaking, in the way one can feel a heavily meditated thought in the mouth as it prepares to escape. Something was holding him back, perhaps it was merely his selfish fear or a primal instinct; it just didn't feel like the right time. Once more he chanced a glance at Malfoy's face, and what he saw there banished all hesitancy from his mind.

"Draco," He said, "I did it. I am the one."

He saw Malfoy mouthing the words as he brought his hands up to his face in shock, but before he could speak, Harry raised his wand to the blond's forehead, and wished with every fibre of his being, every part of him that had hated and loved Malfoy in their own way, for his memories to return.

And return they did, with a blinding light and a sound like shards of broken glass being sucked back together. A small fog emanated in a flurry of wisps from the point where Harry's wand met Draco's skin, and his eyes became glassed over as he experienced the return. He moved slowly to slump against Harry's chest, where Harry could not help but put his arms around the still trembling from, and cradle the broken boy who soon began to sob once more.

They stood locked in this embrace for several minutes, until Malfoys storm of sadness had calmed once more, Harry's warmth suffusing him until the turbulent waters became the calm of a forest glade, fresh as the spring and full of the heavy scent of lavender, sweet like the honeysuckle, but with a strong masculine undertone. Malfoy let these things make their way into his consciousness as he rode out the final waves of his emotions, and then rose his head to meet the emerald eyes of his savior.

Harry took a deep breath as Malfoy moved his hands up to hold Harry by the cheeks. They were roughly equal in height, but this did nothing to quell the now intimidating shivers that were swirling inside him at their closeness. He felt winded and tearful as Malfoy gazed into his eyes with an intense emotion that was both foreign and familiar at once. Slowly, or perhaps it was merely his perception of time, he felt his heart begin to beat heavily in his chest and in his ears. With each centimeter that Malfoy grew closer he could feel the beat of his heart grow stronger and louder, and he wondered if he might die from the stress of trying to figure out if this was really happening.

They were close now, closer then they'd ever been, and Harry felt a strange prickly pressure against his skin like he could feel Malfoy's presence against his own. They paused for a moment, Malfoy apparently feeling the same barrier of tense energy between them. This hesitation hung in the dense air between their lips, and Harry wondered if this whole moment was about to come crashing down around them.

Then, as the world grew quiet, Malfoy let out the softest of breaths, and moved such that the barrier between them fell away, and they felt drawn together, as their bodies made the last space between them disappear. Harry and Malfoy briefly felt their hearts beating with incredible force before their lips made contact, whereupon each of them exploded, and they coalesced into the infinite point of soft skin on skin and moisture. All they knew at this moment was being rocketed through the endless soaring plains of stardust and clouds that swam in brilliant colors as the universe swelled up and burst at the speed of loving another. Their freed minds roamed this private space for an eternity it seemed, before slowly they felt the rush of cosmic visions slow around the bright shimmer of their minds and they were returning to their bodies.

Where the kiss ended Harry did not know, for still the feeling of Malfoy's lips was conquering his mind, and he felt it all over, ghosting over his skin with icy hot pleasure that seemed to move in and out of every fibre of his being with ease. There was and dull pleasure at the base of his skull, dull but strong with a great weight behind it, that bled into his eyes and never before had he felt such a thing. But as Malfoy's hands wound themselves into his hair and he laid his hands on the small of Malfoy's back, he felt such comfort. To be held this way, to be so close to another living breathing human being was almost too much, but it was so sickeningly close, it was pure joy.

Soon, all too soon, the tickling waves of pleasure that were now emanating from the places where Malfoy puled at his hair became too much as he felt Malfoy's lips open just slightly, and a hot wet something poke out to brush against his own. And though nearly every part of Harry wished for nothing more than to open his mouth to Malfoy's pleading tongue, there was a part of him that had been pouting this whole time. It was the part of him that still didn't trust Malfoy, even as their souls were nearly laid bare on each other's lips. It was the part of him that made him jerk away and break their kiss. Each of them drew in a sweet breath, and Harry's heart was crushed by the flushed color of Malfoy's lips, and the faint blush that was still playing along the chiseled line of his cheek.

He could not bring himself to look at Malfoy's eyes, could not bare to see the reaction to what they had just done. He felt a twinge of fear run up his spine, and he turned away into the darkness to go sit at the table, clutching at the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over. He hadn't heard Malfoy moving at all, for the pounding of his heart, and was startled by the soft click of the door closing.

Harry slumped down onto the table, feeling around the ancient thing just to make sure that he was still living in reality, and that the solidity of everyday things was still a constant. But it was a stupid effort, he knew, deep down inside that things had never felt more real in his entire life than when Malfoy's lips had been so ardently pressed against his own. He reached a hand up to his lips, where he could still feel the cool sweet taste of the beautiful blond beast, and his fingers felt as rough rocks compared to the silk that had graced him only moments before.

"What the fuck. What the fuckity fuck fuck fuck just happened." He let out a small chuckle as he spoke to no one in particular. How in Merlin's name had that just happened? Draco fucking Malfoy had just kissed him. He had spent long lonely hours of the night thinking about the smooth graceful forms of Malfoy's body, and surprisingly not even once had he really truly thought about what it might be like to kiss him. And he was glad he hadn't because the experience of the real thing had been so unimaginably better than anything his virginal mind could have conjured.

Maybe a kiss was just some sort of pureblood ritual thing that was required when someone saved your life. That was the most logical explanation that Harry could come up with as his tried mind finally gave up trying to figure out why in the world they had just done that. It was then that his eyes fell upon the small package that lay in the center of the table.


	11. Caramelized Night Air

I should probably wait to release this one, but I'm in an impatient mood so what ever. I'm not going to make any promises about the next one coming soon, because that will jinx it. So let's say the next one is never coming, and then it'll be here tomorrow.

-ooo-

His arms swung wildly about in front of him as he made to clutch at the banister. Somehow he had managed to make it all the way out onto the little roof porch that looked over the garden. Kreacher had seen him on the way up here, and Draco could hear him trying in vain to get through the sealed door that led onto the roof. He listened to the noises of banging magic for a time, willing himself to focus on them instead of what he had just done.

A slow undulating sickness wound its way about in the lowest part of his stomach, grinding its way along his insides. He tried inhaling the damp evening air but it brought no comfort. Instead there now grew an icy cramp in his chest, and a creeping anxiety that crawled up his back. Each time the slimy creature in his stomach ground past his spine cold tendrils would weave into the very pores of his bones, causing his entire body to convulse.

Rocking back and forth, the world coming in and out of focus in time with the nauseating rhythm. The smell of the paint that came along with the heavy scent of the moist night air had never before been so rough or so dusty. Coughing, Draco closed his eyes and lost the last of his grip, tumbling down to lean crippled against the railing.

And his last thought was: all he had done was kiss Harry fucking Potter and now he was dying. A crack beneath him and through the thick ice and all around him was pain. The coolest of fire penetrated every cell in his body, wrenching his gut out and all around him into the dark waters of his death. And all because Harry fucking Potter had been - and to die now after surviving the kiss of a dementor. Harry's kiss was so much better, and to try and escape the pain of drowning, Draco willed his mind back to the endless expanse of him that he had touched by their lips.

There were probably pine trees out above him. Through the wall of white death, was all he could think about.

It was almost like there was a stillness and he could just hang in the arctic darkness of his death and be a frozen mind bloated and full and just…hanging. There was pain but it was so far beyond or behind or unpart of him that Draco no longer cared that he was dead. Or dying? Was he still dying? Hanging.

The kiss of death. Why didn't Ginny die? If he was dying because he kissed Harry Potter, or Harry Potter kissed him, oughtn't she have died too. The weasel bitch. Yes, she deserved to die. What did they even have in common? She was never alone.

Were these the kinds of thoughts he really wanted to have, in the final moments. He didn't really say it as a question anymore, because there was no one he would ever have to talk to again. And he wasn't himself anymore so he was just talking to no one.

Looking up now to the icy white rough scraping against his face and little specks of dirt trapped inside. Sharply did Draco's dying mind remember all the dreams of that white beast, and knowing that he had seen it once before at the moment of his death, he hoped to see it now. Pawing at the clear patches where he imagined his writing body could be seen.

But alas it was only in dreams, and even then it never quite did what he wanted. He was coughing now, the dark water turning crimson before his eyes. Pushing upwards against the tiny crystalline death, cold, running upwards was the whole weight of '_the beneath him'_.

Little bits of the ice stirred and mixed back into slush when his face got really close, or one of the larger bits ground against his contortion in this underwater anti gravity.

Watching the little bits float around in the diffuse light was at once sublime and terrible because he was dying, but still even as his body froze and his lips drained of all their former life he could still feel the tender trepidation of another quivering against him. It was faint, but lasting. Dull like all his other senses, reduced to a mute equality. It wasn't pleasant. Nothing ever could be. Neutral.

He passed into a quiet boredom, where still the pain was like a dull ringing, but mostly he just felt the blood diffusing now. His life mixing with the darkness, and his insides growing cold. A bloody hand was in front of him.

After a great many minutes of study it was his own. Where was he bleeding from, all he'd done is kill Harry Potter.

He'd kissed Harry Potter. Not killed him. Or maybe he had. That would explain a great many things. Like why he had cried the whole Arctic and was drowning. But that was just in his mind, really. Probably.

It probably shouldn't be taking so long. Dying. Or at least it could be a little more dynamic. Or maybe death was just an infinite boredom, where you sat trying to breath underwater and stewed in your thoughts for an eternity. But you weren't allowed to really feel anything about them. Like all the bonds between them had been severed and they just floated now, mixing sweetly like his blood in the water.

He kissed Harry Potter.

He was a thing, a being separate from all the rest.

He was human, and was told what love was.

He was told that kissing was love. Or maybe a step along the road.

Harry Potter was a thing. A being quite separate from all the rest.

Take him and shove him into the great moving swelling mass of humanity and still like a beacon he would ride above the rest.

Carry that great torch you handsome mother-fucker was all that Draco could think about this. It was absurd really. Like being hit with something mid way through jumping a river bank. All he could feel was the mute reality of being totally silently fucked. And the cold water. And the pain. Maybe a bit of the fall, but that happened so fast.

Well, and then it started again and he realized that the reason it was all getting so boring is that the little thing that dragged him down here had gone away but really it was just making its first circle around to kill him, and because he was dying his mind had made time into something infinite and stretched.

But now he could feel the rushing pressure of its coming back, swimming with the cold eyes of a hunter. His back was all tingly and bracing for the impact. So sharp was his fear, coursing through him with the gritty breathing of being forced against the ground, but in this case up against the ice. Oh his heart was on fire and all his insides were burning with primal fear, except his stomach. That fickle asshat was gurgling with delight at the prospect of getting eaten by that thing that had been crawling around there in the first place.

Draco closed his eyes, arching his back against the grey ice water and hoped that maybe embracing the whole idea of non existence would make it less of a shock when it actually came time to rip his flesh asunder.

-ooo-

Even in the paltry light of the night Harry could see that it was wrapped in the same shimmering paper that Dumbledore had used on his first present. As he dragged it closer, into a shaft of light from the window, he could see that it was not one, but two packages.

With the same delicacy he had used on the previous present from Dumbledore, he pulled loose the emerald green ribbon. The first package was light and wobbly, and he peeled away the wrapping to meet a delicious smell. It was one he knew all too well, treacle tart. Trust Dumbledore to know that its flaky sugary goodness would always bring him happiness.

And yes for some reason he was feeling rather morose, probably to do with the uncertain way of Draco's hurried exit. Was it hurried? Did it suck? It that why he left…

Potter forced himself to slice of a bit of the tart with a cutting incantation, food was always supposed to distract the love torn heart right? Merlin's beard he needed to stop thinking like that. There. Was. No. Love. Certainly not yet anywa-

Oh it was so hard to keep himself from thinking things, even if he was currently savoring the sweet taste of one of the best treacle tarts he'd ever had. Dumbledore certainly knew his way around this particular pastry, and why he had decided to hold out until this particular birthday would take some explaining.

He would never admit it, but one of the only things he'd ever cherished about living with the Dursley's was an unspoken arrangement he had with Aunt Petunia. For some unimaginable reason, the shrew of a woman enjoyed making treacle tart the most amongst all other pastries; for some even more unimaginable reason Dudley liked treacle tart the least amongst all other pastries.

In fact you might say he hated it. Harry, of course, was never allowed any at meal times. Afterwards, as she was cleaning up and Vernon and Dudley had moved on to vegetate in the living room, she would ask Harry to clean the pan for the treacle tart. She would also remind him that they didn't like wasting food, which was hardly ever a problem when 'Dudders' was around to donate his charitable services.

And so Harry would hide away in his cupboard and relish one of the only bright parts of his childhood. Perhaps it was the circumstance, but never had another recipe compared to hers. Except perhaps this one, which surpassed all others in its lightness, its sweetness, its caramelized perfection. And thank goodness Harry had something else to think about for a bit, even if his childhood was mostly a dark place.

He finished half of it before he realized he was really even eating it and not just thinking about how awesome it was. He put down the tray that it was baked in, the darkness making everything seem far away and sharp like the sound of foil on the ancient table.

His hair was seeming to cling about his face, and after the emotional turmoil and subsequent suppression he was now dealing with, it was a mild from of claustrophobia. He also kept holding his breath.

Letting it out, Harry picked up and unwrapped, with the same care as the rest, the second present. He let it drop with surprising haste once its contents were revealed. It couldn't be.

But yes all the dents were the same, even with the new cover he had given it, the year had been a rough one. Great silence over took his mind as he put his shaking hand on the cover. And a thousand memories of this book passed by in a rush the moment he flipped it open to see the familiar scrawling words written all around the free space.

The next moment he was aware of, he was standing by the window. Just beginning to wonder how in the hell it had come back to him. Not to mention how Dumbledore had come to posses it. As he leaned against the antique glass, and felt the sugar coursing through his veins with a slight jitter, the trembling and the spider cracks that he traced in the window panes brought uncertain thoughts.

He wasn't sure what the right thing to do in this situation was. There wasn't enough precedent of arch rivals suddenly deciding to make out. Okay it didn't happen suddenly, certainly before he had expected it too. Had he expected it to?

They hadn't really made out either.

Were they supposed to talk now? Or fade away into obscurity?

That was a dramatic thought. Did it fit…melodramatic then. This didn't have to be a defining moment, why did everything have to be a defining moment lately. Life wasn't supposed to be so cut up and decided.

Harry decided to stop strategizing about every moment of his life for a little while, and though he realized the irony of deciding indecision he sort of leapt from the windowsill and walked towards the door to keep himself from dwelling on it.

Out into the dark hallway he still wasn't thinking about it, right or left? Right. Smelled like Draco. Don't think about it. Or is that an okay thing to think about? Do normal people think about the way other people smell? And smell them in places they aren't but semi recently were?

Hush. Not analyzing was the point. It was dark in the house, and he spent a few minutes really enjoying how the teal of the walls was a dark turquoise in the low light, and how very nicely it mixed with the deep red of the carpet runners. All this played out among the dark wood and little glints off silver things in the cabinets, and the nape of his neck was humming with the enjoyment of the flow of the moment, and he was only thinking about thinking about Draco and their kiss a little bit.

He followed the faint smell that he realized was only partially Draco, and mostly composed of smells from the party, food, flowers and the like. As he drew closer, he suspected, he nearly ran over kreacher in his floaty half stupor of trying to subsume himself in the moment.

In reality he didn't even come close to hitting the creature, his mind just used the extra space in his head to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't been paying attention and had run into the grumbling thing as it rounded the corner out of the little study that lead onto the roof. As it was he saw him coming with what must have been ten minutes of mental clearance, time enough even to duck into the shadows and avoid what ever the he was mumbling about.

It was official, he was going crazy. But the craziest thing was that he didn't care and he wasn't going to think about it. Just laugh at the absurd Harry Potter, he told himself.

And maybe he said it out loud, and continued laughing all the way out onto the little porch and took in deeply the smell of the night air and all the British country side that was carried on the breeze.

His laughs slowly grew deeper and longer apart. Lower in a sort of panicked way, and his eyes were still looking cheerily at the clouds, even as slowly he began to smell the metal smell of blood faint in the after thought of his breathing in.

Shit and shit and shit and shit, life was shit and Draco was bleeding, had coughed up blood, and his pale form clung in crystalline majesty to the railing, blond locks rustling in the breeze. Blowing across his eyes shut tight in pain and contortion, the drying glisten of tears rolling in slow motion down his cheeks, and wet hot blood dripping sweet and dark upon his lips.

Harry was on the ground in an instant, his mind flowing through a dark routine, only really taking in reality when he breathed in. So now Harry breathed in and realized that he had his head pressed against Draco's chest and felt the wet cloth against his face. Had to remind himself that he was listening for a heart beat, because the closeness was so sweet.

The taste of Draco's blood on his lips was mystical… or something. It never felt so real to be alive as when he finally felt the steady beat of a heart beneath his head. The wind whipped by, wet and perfect, and Harry enjoyed the stillness and the sweetness of having Draco's life on his lips. He was crazy and then remembered to panic, but Malfoy was too weak to be apparated. He had never done side along. Get help.

There was a gentle tugging in his lower stomach as he thought of the burrow, and as he looked back from the fluid vortex of apparition, the fragility of human existence lay broken and lonely against the banister. A tear escaped his eyes and went to land on Draco's cheek before, in a wisp, he vanished.

-ooo-

"I expect that the minister will summon you sometime tomorrow, Harry, best if you get some rest."

"I'm not feeling very restful...professor. And that shrewd old man is tiring no matter what the circumstance."

"Ah to be young and sour. Better to get it out of the way now I suppose, but careful not to let yourself get curmudgeonly too fast."

They fell into silence, as they had been doing off and on for the past couple of hours, sitting by Malfoy's bedside as the mediwizards analyzed his illness. Dumbledore had been getting steadily more direct about getting Harry to go to sleep, but he wasn't about to give in until they came back with news.

"Do you have any idea what could cause this?"

Dumbledore just continued stroking his beard.

Harry waited.

Minutes passed and Dumbledore, still not answering, summoned a gilded tray with some tea and fresh croissants. Harry took the tea rather grumpily, earning a chuckle from the headmaster.

"Settle down now. If you're not going to sleep, at least relax a bit." Harry cut across with a stare of incredulity, and Dumbledore sighed, giving in at last. "I know less about this incident than you, I would imagine. All I know is that shortly after you and Draco left the party, you came back covered in his blood. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You can't possibly believe I had anything to do with this? I would never - I mean that's, we - alright… we kissed." Harry turned red, and folded his arms across his chest, realizing for the first time that he was still wearing Draco's blood on his robes.

"Would you like me to send for another set of robes, Harry? Its probably no good to show up at the ministry covered in the blood of another wizard. Especially not during these times."

"Were you listening?… sir." The old amber clock in the corner read simply 'way past midnight', and so Harry turned to his watch, marveling at the absurdity of things lately. He'd just told someone that he and Draco has kissed, and yet that didn't seem to change and thing.

"Oh yes, Harry, I am always listening. And watching. For example, I also know that you were the one who saved Draco that night. So no, I don't believe you had anything to do with Draco's current predicament. Directly at least."

Harry pursed his lips as he frowned into his tea cup, "How did you know about that then?"

"It was written on your face, every time you looked at him. You know, I think it might be one of the reason's why occlumency does not come so easily to you."

"And why is that?"

"Because, my dear boy, you wear your heart on your sleeves. One hardly even needs to look into your mind to know what you are thinking." Dumbledore took one of his characteristic pauses, and looked at Harry over the top of his glasses. "In any case, you were asking about Draco. You say you kissed him, and was it then that he started bleeding?"

"No. I don't know when. I found him like this on the roof."

"Did he have anything on him when he left? Did you fight?"

"I don't think so. And no… well I got angry at him, and disarmed him. But nothing ever came of it. I gave him back his memories. Does it have anything to do with that?"

"Did it feel like a negative thing when it happened?"

"No."

"Then probably not. But, I will say this, and only this, until we know any more. You probably shouldn't kiss him anymore Harry. And touching probably isn't best either."

And what was Harry Potter supposed to make of that? A long undulating wave of thought and emotion struck him, and he rode it, trying to disentangle his feelings, pulling out strings of relief that he wouldn't have to awkwardly bumble around with what to do next with Draco, because someone had given him permission to do nothing. There were also large quantities of regret, longing… a loneliness that was looking to become permanent.

He sank into his chair, holding the cup tight in his hands, and folded in on himself to stew in his thoughts. So much for not strategizing, that was turning out just as deadly as anything else. He must have fallen asleep sitting there, and thinking this, because the same though was bobbing up and down is his mind as he was jostled awake by someone's shouting.

"Potter. Fucking Potter! Wake up you twat!"

Harry pushed his glasses up against his nose as Draco came into focus, he was looking paler than ever and there were deep circles under his eyes. Despite loosing nearly a pint of blood he was still able to get this fiesty. Noisy bugger.

"Ugh finally, Merlin I've been yelling at you for the last ten minutes, do you have any idea how hard it is to yell like this! I thought I was dying!"

"Clearly not hard enough Malfoy, could you quit the yelling?"

It looked as though Malfoy attempted to cross his arms, but only his shoulders heaved up slightly before he gave up. Rolling his head to face away from Harry, he sighed "What happened?"

"How should I know? You're the one who is dying."

"I'm dying?" Malfoy whipped his head around and locked Harry with his gaze, primal fear in his eyes.

"Shit… no, I didn't mean that. They don't think you're dying. But they have no idea what is wrong. As far as they can tell you're perfectly healthy. Aside from the coughing up blood… that's what they knew last night."

Draco was quiet for a moment; he finally gave up staring at Harry, and laid back against his pillow. They breathed in relative silence for awhile, both of them feeling the vibrations of the other's thinking, trying desperately to think of a way to talk about what happened without it being awkward.

Draco said, finally "I'm sorry." It was in that dreadful despondent lonely way that Harry knew all to well, and he wanted nothing more than to tell him that he shouldn't be sorry, and that it was a wonderful thing. But Dumbledore's words came back to him, and saying anything to Draco would only make it harder once they both realized that nothing more could happen.

"Me too, I guess."

Malfoy looked at him again, and Harry wished he wouldn't, they were too much alike in their loneliness to look at each other directly like this. "What for?"

"Nothing."

Malfoy went back to looking at the painting on the wall, "You suck."

The two wizards in the painting were playing chess, though neither seemed to be particularly engaged in the game. The way they avoided each other's gazes, and watched very intently the haphazard way the pieces moved to kill each other. It was as if neither wanted to the other to know how desperately they enjoyed the simple act of being with another person, doing something seemingly mundane. Or maybe Harry was just reading too much into it, and the artist was just terrible at getting people to interact properly.

"Is my mother here?"

"No."

Malfoy sighed, clearly discontent with the lack of information in Harry's reply. "Well?" he said with impatience and venom that was probably inherited from his father. And Snape. Harry caught himself getting angry at Malfoy, and was reminded that he probably had almost just died, and didn't need to be hassled. But it was so hard not to rise to the Slytherin's arrogant baiting. There was something wrong with him, he was going crazy. Or was he already crazy?

"Potter. My mother. Where is she?" Malfoy was staring at him again, his dark lidded eyes holding their familiar contempt, but there was something else behind them, behind the icy shield.

"Are you going deaf? I swear."

"Oh sorry." Malfoy was still staring, waiting for him to continue. Harry sighed, as if it were the hardest thing in the world to explain to Malfoy that his mother and Snape had gone off to find someone. And there, he had already thought it out, so saying it would just be redundant, and he was quite tired. And someone would comeback to tell Malfoy everything anyway. Someone fresh and unburdened by the prospect of being alone again for quite sometime. Maybe forever. But yes, Malfoy had been through a traumatic experience, so maybe he didn't deserve the silent treatment, even if they couldn't really even be friends or whatever.

"Your mother… and Snape…" Harry was out of breath, and slouching in his chair. Malfoy just stared at him, blankly with one eye kind of raised. He understood that Harry was moping, but anyone could tell that his own patience was running low. Especially after nearly dying. And kissing the boy-who-lived. Quite tiring.

"They went… to fetch someone. Or something. To check on something? Find it out. Whatever. They were muttering."

"They didn't say when they would get back?"

"mmm… soon?"

"Very helpful. Have you ever thought about taking notes? It might help you remember things."

Harry was silent for a few moments, before finally he mustered up the energy to ask "How can you have enough effort to be insolent right now… Malfoy?" An after thought, a habit, who else would he be talking too?

Malfoy turned back to the painting in a huff, but secretly he was mollified. And the tense thinking silence returned, and the clock that now read 'early morning' was steadily ticking away. Harry noticed that Malfoy slowly began to scrunch up his face until finally his lips were just a thin dark line.

"Thank you. Harry Potter. For saving me… last night… and the other time." Another wave of thoughts began to undulate through Harry's mind, but he was in no state to parse out what it meant in english, so he just sat there and stared mutely at the wall.

They weren't really thinking anymore, just two boys laid out on a large flat rock in the middle of the ocean. They'd been put there by a terrible storm that was long and quiet, to the point where no one else really noticed it anymore, it had been going on so long. So now they just laid there, breathing occasionally and not really looking at anything. But sometimes they felt the salt spray against their face, and they squinted a bit, lest their eyes stung. It was like being dead, but they were only stranded. Harry watched the storm pass on into the distance, thinking slowly about what it was like to have his hair whip against his face, and Malfoy looked towards the next one vaguely tense about the prospect of lighting, in that abject primal fear of bad weather that people tend to have.

Dumbledore returned to find the boys this way, and remembered well that the present was an empty calm place when one thought like this, but it wasn't productive. And he hoped that when the time came they would learn the value of all directions and perspectives. Fear and knowledge, in their proper places, at the behest of the present.


	12. Club Fuckery

For those of you who think this is going to get light and fluffy soon, this chapter shall serve as your disillusionment. Seriously though, I don't appreciate sudden love fics, so I hope to steer this one away from that.

I'm sorry if this can seem somewhat cryptic or non-sensical at times, but if you can hold everything together it should make hard, lasting connections down the line.

-ooo-

The air inside the elevator was stifling. Harry was already feeling woozy from not sleeping hardly at all during the night, combined with the frustration of dealing with… Malfoy. Needless to say, the enormous amount of body odor that was rolling of the stubby man beside him was not helping the situation.

His beard must have taken ages to grow, and though he stroked it often, and made sickening little loving noises, his attentions did nothing to calm its wild tangles. It was so greasy, Harry nearly lost the measly croissant that was the only thing occupying his stomach. Just looking into its deep, cavernous disgusting coils was enough to make his heart stop momentarily. Or so his melodramatic mind thought in this heat stupor. He had to go visit the minister too, what a joy.

If only Dumbledore could come with him, but yes, Draco needed him now more than he did. After all he wasn't really going to interact with the minister. It was like dealing with a particularly grumpy blast-ended skrewt, he supposed. You just had to remain calm and doge its blasts. Nothing you said really made a difference, unless you too could blow fire out of your anus. But it took many years of political training to be able to muster that kind of flaming bullshit, and it was too early in the morning for Harry to even attempt something that energetic.

"Nasty little trick don't you think Harry? I hope they find who ever put these sweltering charms on the elevators. The ink on the memos is starting to run."

Harry was momentarily shaken out of his stupor by Arthur's words, nodded, and then went back to brooding on the ugly man's beard.

They got off the elevator at the very top floor, after Arthur gave the attendant the letter of invitation they had been given, and the receipt that Eric the wand checker had given them. The ministry was more cautious, it seemed, now that Voldemort was being more boisterous than ever.

They even had to check in again with a slight brunette receptionist, who, Harry thought darkly, would hardly last three seconds against a death eater. So who were they trying to fool? How was a scrawny elevator attendant, and a retarded bitch supposed to defend the minister? Not that Harry really cared, except for the fact that they were all human.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait here Arthur, only Harry has been requested, hmm." Said the bitch. She had a twinkle in her eye that made Harry want to vomit in her perfectly set hair. He surely was dark today, he thought morosely as he left Mr. Weasely at the reception desk.

"I'll be down in my office Harry, you remember where that is right?"

Harry nodded as he turned to knock on the large gilded door that lead into the minister's office.

Two large windows silhouetted Scrimgeour as Harry moved into the room. Harry noticed a small fire burning to his left, the only thing dynamic about the rather simple office. The shelves were lined with many books, and in the farthest corner, a pensive. It was far less extravagant then when Fudge had been in power, and for that Harry had to give the minister some respect. At least he was all business, no pomp.

"Ah, Harry ma' boy, please, do have a seat." The tawny lion of a man gestured towards the high backed seat to Harry's left. The place smelled of a sort of dusty oldness, that made Harry feel quite stagnant. Not that that was anything new to his mental state of late. He wasn't sure if he disliked it or not. It was probably just the circumstance, at this moment, with him destined to face off against The Dark Lord, he was probably going to be at odds with any kind of bureaucracy.

So all in all he probably would have gotten along with Scrimgeour, if it weren't for the circumstance. He tried to send a sort of apology across the space between them when their eyes met, for the stubborn evasiveness the minister was about to receive.

The minister, who was gently cradling his hands in front of his face, wrung them a bit, and a tired look came across his eyes. He sighed, seeming to understand that he wasn't going to get anything out of Harry.

It is said that two warriors can ascertain the thoughts of one another, with merely an exchange of blows. Harry wondered if wizards could do the same… with an exchange of looks. The minister sat back in his chair, resigned to the affair just as much as Harry was.

"I hope your summer has been well?"

"As good as any other I suppose."

"Well, you haven't been put on trial for anything, as far as I know."

"I'm sure Umbridge could find something if you asked, does she still have a job?"

"Umbridge? Yes, I do think so. I understand you two have a regrettable history."

"Yes."

"You no doubt remember then, the regrettable history of our last… meeting?"

Probably because he was so used to political maneuvering, and despite himself, Scrimgeour was leaning a little forward now, one eyebrow raised on his harsh face.

Harry sighed, and leaned onto his fist, his hope that this would be short and swift floating away like the steam that was gently rising out of the tea; the minister passed it across the desk along with sugar.

Harry, because he was feeling dark, and therefore a bit cheeky, took all but one of the sugar cubes and mixed them into his tea, looking the minister in the eye as he did so. The first sip was hot, and sugary, like drinking syrup right out of the plastic black lady, which Harry had of course only done once or twice when he'd snuck out of the cupboard late at night.

As he felt it travel down his throat, the minister sat back, deciding not to have a cup himself. Harry was delighted.

"Hmm, well. I see that you do. The reason that I have called you here mister Potter," He straightened his tie, "concerns he-who-must-not-be-named."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, minister."

"You must be aware then, that we recently found two death eaters. Right on our doorstep no less."

"Working hard as ever then?" He felt a little guilty, being harsh to a man in the harshest of situations. But no one could begin to understand what he himself was going through.

"Tell me. How did your spell signature get there?"

It was going to be blunt then.

"Tell me. How did those two get there?" Countered Harry.

"That. Is what I find myself wondering."

"Probably best not to worry about it. I'm sure someone here at the ministry could use the promotion for a job well done. Not to mention the media blitz."

The minister merely grunted, and looked sideways to a portrait of the previous minister, who was smiling stupidly while twirling his green bowler.

"Careful, or I might be forced to have a trial arranged with the department of underage wizardry."

"That sounds like a good use of both of our time. Once again, I'm sure Umbridge would go out of her mind with excitement. If she hasn't already gone out of it, that is." Harry was still leaning nonchalantly against his fist, but on the inside he was beginning to boil. He was well and truly through with being polite to anyone at this point, and how fucking dare the minister threaten him, when he had so much more to worry about than a petty fucking case of underage magic.

Harry took a sip of tea.

"No need to be difficult. I'm just looking out for the safety of my country."

Harry merely stared back at him, making every effort to look deadpan, hoping maybe the man's tie would catch aflame or something. He took a sip of tea.

"Well, I can see we are losing focus, so let me get right to it. I need you to tell me if you know anything about the activities of the death eaters. No, I demand it of you, Harry, for us, and for Britain. We know you and that Malfoy boy have been spending time together. The nurses say you were at the hospital all night. What has he told you?" Scrimgeour was leaning quite forward now, but seemed to catch himself, and leaned back into his chair, running a hand through his hair as he did so.

It was another one of those moments where Harry was nearly overwhelmed by his inner roilings. He took a deep breath, to keep from exploding. At least he was awake now.

"This is what I know. I know that somewhere, out there, in the receding mist of this morning, the world holds witness to the tail end of the worst kind of black magic. Every night they gather in the darkness of this country to scheme and plan not just my demise, but your own. I can't tell you what he is doing, right now, at this very moment. What I can tell you is this. And this I know for certain. He isn't sitting, having tea with a young wizard who has battled darkness more times than most could ever dream of. A young wizard who must face the most grueling task that can befall any man, knowing he must take the life of another to save his own. A young wizard who instead of preparing himself for this, must sit and receive petty threats from a man at the end of his wits. Do not take out your frustrations on me minister, and do not think that Draco has anything to do with his father."

There was a long silence after Harry was done speaking, wherein they both looked deep into each other's eyes, and the fear and insecurity that was written plain as day across the minister's face did nothing to calm the storm that was brewing in Harry's chest.

"Do not make me your enemy, Potter. I just need information."

"Before that happens then, perhaps consider that it is you who should be helping me. I am the one who is going to save us." To be honest he had no idea if he would really be able to save the world when the time came, but all this shit certainly wasn't going to help, so it was best have every one believe he knew what he was doing. "But I cannot do that alone."

Scrimgeour seemed to bristle for a moment, his tawny mane of hair ruffled slightly.

"I hope, Harry James Potter, that the next time we meet, you will have remembered your allegiance." He sat, his hands templed in front of his face, no longer eager to hear what Harry Potter said, but regretting this encounter all together. The minister waived his hand, indicating that Harry should leave.

Harry would have given anything to have been able to apparate out of the office immediately, leaving the desperate man to weep over the forsaken bond between the chosen one and the ministry. Instead he turned to leave silently, and was out of the office in a flurry of robes.

He passed by Daphne on his way out, and firmly resisted the temptation to scream at her. She smiled at him, and so to pass the time in the elevator, he imagined what she might have done if he'd thrown up in her hair.

He was getting darker by the minute, and he wasn't sure why. Hermione would probably say it had something to do with Draco. With Malfoy, rather.

And there she was, speak of throw up, and hair, and ugly, and she shall appear. As he stepped out of the sauna that was now the elevator, it was almost as if she was waiting for him. Her outfit was nauseatingly pink as usual, and she smelled like cats, also usual.

"Ahem, what a delight, mister Potter."

"Ah yes, quite. I'm feeling rather rude today, I should warn you."

"Then its not different from any other day is it then, dear? I do hope we've gotten over your habit of lying at the very least?"

"I see you haven't. I wonder, if you were to look in the mirror, which one of you is better at lying? The person you think you are, or your actual self?"

"Why I never- you best watch yourself. I may no longer be the high inquisitor, but I will be watching you most closely. I've already noticed your choice of friends seems to be getting rather... desperate... of late." She had begun to play with the necklace around her neck, and Harry watched with pure contempt as she twirled it sinisterly between her fat sausages.

"I seem to remember that most people at the ministry have actual jobs to do, or have they demoted you so severely since your little trip with the centaurs, that you have nothing better to do than stalk me and collect copious amounts of wittle kitty plates with the spare change that they pay you in?"

A look of pity crossed Umbridge's face, and she reached out a hand, as if you pat him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry dear, that you had to turn out like this. Having no parents, and being raised by muggles. Its no wonder you're a raving lunatic."

Harry was laughing now, his rage turning to crazed amusement, once again laughing at the absurdity of his life. He turned and walked away from her, down the stuffy hallway towards Arthur's office, laughing even more as he heard her trademark 'tut tut' entering the elevator. The pink besotted queefer.

"_My, my, Harry. We are getting quite the sharp tongue aren't we? Best be careful, lest people think you are… becoming… your own breed… of darkness."_

The intrusion was followed by a high mirthless laughter, and the familiar and terrible pain from the scar on his forehead. Harry clutched at it uselessly with his hand, leaning against the wall as he swung dangerously near to falling on the floor.

He was vaguely aware of himself sliding down the old canvas covered wall, the only real sensation was the fact of the carpet getting steadily closer to his face. And he began to see the slight variations in its neutral tones, just about the time everything grew dark, including the fibres of the carpet, just as the fibres of his soul?

Everything was, as usual, fading to black in his life, though as he fell he began to feel battered and hassled by something. Just as he was about to fade into the infinite darkness, something would tug at him, jostle him a bit so that he floated just above the precipice.

"Harry! Harry don't you fall asleep. Stay with me!"

How terribly cliché. At least it wasn't absurd to be in a movie, lots of normal things were in movies. Harry could almost see Arthur patting his cheek, trying to wake him. What a bother, darkness seemed so much quieter, and less staged. Less melodrama.

Mr. Weasely must have made him drink something, because he awoke suddenly, very alert and buzzing. All of it, everything, was so very intense for a few moments. Like walking out of a dark room into the sunlight. Even the fibres of the carpet were far too much for his frazzled and throbbing mind.

"Come on Harry, stay with me until we can get away from here. Just keep your eyes open until we get to the emergency apparition room."

He was dragged along the hallway, back towards the elevator, all the time everything swirling about him in delirious noisy retardation. A door flashed into his conciousness, and Harry vaguely felt himself slam against it for a moment, as Arthur opened it.

"Sorry about that Harry."

Harry wasn't sure if he grunted in reply, because the next thing he knew was his mind exploding with a final throb as his stomach was blown out all around him and then sucked back up his spine and they were off.

-ooo-

They landed harshly, and like the cacophonous beat of a disfunctional drum, St. Mungo's hospital for the magically fucked up came blasting into Harry's peeled open brain.

It was too much, to fucking much. There was so much walls, so much floors, so much smells, so much much much much. Much much much much. Much muchness much muchy mutch mutchierfuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He must have thrown up. He felt a little better now, like his head had only been partially smashed up and chewed out through someone's asshole. And his nose was filled with a most acrid smell. It was the only logical answer.

But since up was down lately, maybe he was secretly just a lonely mountain that had taken a stumble and tasted the sweetness of the ocean and a lips named Draco, and was being dragged into a hospital gown now, and laid on the bed to stew in the darkness that was laying at the bottom of that ocean, and drowning in the prospect of being a lonely mountain forever. Because really even the highest peaks were dredged up from the bottom.

"You should be fine now, Harry, get some rest."

That was Dumbledore's voice. Something wooden prodded his scar and warm tingles suffused his body from the feet up, until he was positively giddy with delight and faded waif like into a dreamless sleep.

-ooo-

When Harry had left in the morning, Malfoy was not sure. He had slipped into a state of mental blankness after waking up and realizing that he wasn't dead. He looked around the room, noting the subtle relief on the floral print wall paper that lined the room. Ordinarily he would have been disgusted, but still all he could really feel was neutral. Except with Potter. All it took was one wild lock of that boy's hair to set him off on an emotionally taxing ride of positive and negative mind fucks. But they kept him awake, and lucid. For the most part

His mind was wandering. He thought vaguely about having not seen his mother. But then his eyes fell again upon the floral printed walls, and he wondered what it might be like to run his hand across it. To get his eyes so close that only he and that wall were in focus. Only he and that wall existed and he could touch it, and feel the tiny rise and fall of the texture beneath the skin of his hand running up and down it.

But alas he was melting, that's what his body told his mind when he though about getting out of bed. Its too hard, your butt is all fused to the sheets and you'd probably just bleed everywhere. Besides you'd just be disappointed by the feel.

He was trying to convince himself this so that his crippling condition didn't seem so bad. At least he was alive even if he couldn't do so much as grope the wall paper.

He felt bad and good about that, so to keep himself from slipping under into the large tired space of mental silence that was terrifying in its expansiveness. To keep himself from slipping.

Slipping… he had to keep himself from slipping. Oh. Lookat that… the wall paper. Has. Flowers. Are they moving, or am I slipping…. What was I doing to keep myself from slipping. Slipping. Slippang. Slippanguhwa. Sulipanugunwala. Spoolermuhgruner ing. Spluuuuhuh. Sploohuh.

And he was shaking his head back and forth, getting dizzy and nauseous but keeping above the slippering. All the while mumbling these nonsense things. And if he crapped himself, he wouldn't be surprised. It would probably be a little funny. Just like the face of that nurse who just passed, and caught him drooling a little bit.

He tried to imagine what it might've been like for her, to see him this way. He tired for quite a few minutes, before he decided it was impossible. He didn't remember what sanity tasted like. So how was he supposed to reconstruct her mind if he didn't care about shitting the bed. She probably did.

She would probably die and fall to pieces and poop herself again in death. Didn't people do that. Wouldn't it be funny if he had actually died and they just left him here sitting in his bed. Poop. Pewp. Poonpte- AH. Stop that. The indignity.

Draco blinked, and smiled, and laughed and his head felt light. Finally he'd had a strong thought. His will was returning. But still his smile was rather weak despite his internal vibrancy. And he thought he might have drooled on himself again. Shouldn't there be someone to wipe this up? YES! The indignity. Keep it up and you'll be drooling over by the wall in no time, thought Draco to himself.

He crossed his arms in triumph and finally managed to close his mouth, the blonde nurse walked by again, and Draco winked at her. The look of self satisfaction on his face must have been quite the spectacle, because she walked by again, this time with a friend and they both giggled just as they passed.

This amused him for awhile, and he explored the limits of his motor skills as they slowly returned, and only had a a few brief moments of panic when he thought he might slip back under into boredom. Which was really death. Even if it wasn't death, it had to be worse.

Existing, but being denied all the things that went along with being human, but still yearning to be so. That was the truest suffering. And he had suffered it. Both insanity and in sanity. Under the ice, and floundering above it like a normal person. Though, normal people didn't feel up the wall paper. Or want to.

The nurses walked by again, and Malfoy wondered for a time if they had ever even felt the slightest echo of a crack running spider like across the lake, brought back to them on the howling wind. Could they even feel the wind... was it a privilege to be cold?

The wizards in the painting, the ones that he (and probably Harry) had watched for awhile had given up on the game entirely, and they were now staring at each others beards with great ferocity.

They probably knew a lot about being cold. People who played chess regularly usually knew a lot about being cold. Draco supposed one of the benefits was knowing how to button up your coat really well, when you finally found something to shelter you from the cold.

Draco sat, stewing on how every great and terrible thing in life was at once a burden and a privilege and people, most of the time, just existed on the fine line of not being aware of either. Like the middle of the coin that no one ever cares about, but in this case most people spend their time finding the meaning there.

He must have dozed off and started drooling again, because when he awoke to commotion in the hallway, the two wizards in the painting were trying very hard to look like they were doing something other than staring at him. It was like a bunch of people were using their voices to slap him, because all the sudden a bunch of people were slapping him with their voices. Slapping him so hard that he wished he could slip under.

Because as much as he had been sort of halfway yearning for the company of other people, no one enjoyed getting slapped in the face.

They were still slapping him.

He shut his eyes.

Opened them.

They were still slapping him.

He drooled a little bit.

Shut his eyes.

They were slapping him from closer now, and in came a bleary eyed looking Harry Potter, with vomit running all down his front and drooling just as much (encouraging!). His eyes were all bleary, and no matter how much Malfoy tried to jiggle his still rather unresponsive body, Potter wouldn't look at him.

Draco wasn't sure what he wanted with Potter, perhaps to ask him about the weather. If he thought it was cold. Just typical things like that. That _normal_ people ask. Worrying if he needed a sweater. Did he feel the wallpaper?

He shut his eyes again. They were peeling Harry out of his clothes, and Draco thought he'd seen Harry's naked form. But no matter how many times he replayed the memory of the last time he'd opened his eyes to drool on himself, all he could see was green. Green eyes set aflame around the edges. Crying a little bit, and if they'd been focused on him, he probably would have melted again. Or melted more, because he was still melted from before.

He'd gotten so used to the cold that room temperature was unbearable, and he melted. In a neutral way. They made straight jackets for this type of thing. Where had the lucidity from this morning gone? He was sure if he could just ask Harry about the wall paper, or the wizards who were secretly interested in each other while they played chess, it would come back.

He rolled his head over, towards Harry's bed, which hadn't been there before, but replaced a bunch of nasty sitting things that people had been using. Oh no, those were just in the corner now. Chairs. They were called. At least, people who slapped each other said things like that to get their pain across.

Draco tried to lift his arm, wondering if he would ever be able to slap anyone again when he realized that people were actually slapping in his direction this time, and he tried very hard to focus on making out the actual words of what they were saying.

It was Dumbledore, he leaned in close and slapped him softly, "Don't worry they will all be quiet in a moment, and then we can go back to having our chat."

Confusion, in its plainest from, must have been written all over his face in giant glowing letters, because Dumbledore was chuckling. Had he been talking out loud this entire time?

"No Draco, only occasionally. Though I must say I am quite adept at non verbal communication."

Draco drooled a little bit, and he looked down to note that there wasn't any drool on his gown. But. He'd been sure of it. Reality was fucking insane. He looked over to Dumbledore, who winked and waggled his arm a little bit, flashing Draco his wand.

"I'm sorry Draco, I figured you might worry about the indignity of the situation, later, when you are fully aware again."

Draco made a low grumbling noise. (Thank you. You're being awfully direct. Hardly cryptic at all.)

"It's my pleasure Draco, and I figured now is not the time to make life lessons out of putting on your jacket."

Draco gurgled a little bit. (I almost didn't catch that. Good thing I know what wearing winter robes is like. What's wrong with him…. ?)

"He's been a bit irregular today. Had a bit of an episode."

"Hunh" it was the closest to speech he'd had since the morning. (it always comes back to shit in the end.)

"Not that kind of irregular Draco."

"Oh" on the inside, Draco's mind did a little back flip. He could almost feel the little men inside his brain congratulating themselves on a job well done. Settle down you little fuckers, lets work on touching that wall paper.

He must have said it out loud, because the hallway walking nurse looked over from where she was attending to Harry. Though this time, behind the smile, there was a flash of something else. But, like a feet seen only at the bottom of the curtain, Draco could not identify the men inside her mind. They seemed familiar though, nice aristocratic shoes.

"Alright Draco, I think you've had enough excitement for a little while, don't you think? We'll all have a little chat when your mother gets back."

Someone was taking off his toes and getting his insides all warm. And people kept missing when they tried to slap him, and Draco laughed as he floated away.


	13. Cinnamon Underwhelm

Thank you all for your kind comments, and continued patronage to this story. Some of you seem a bit confused about where this is going, but rest assured I have a definite story arch that I am following, sorry if it tends to get a little slow. Hogwarts soon ye impatient bastards!

-ooo-

An eternity passed until in a sudden splash Draco surfaced from his deep torment, to cough up the waters of his pain and breathe for the first time in what must have been minutes. He was floundering against the chipping white painted bars that pressed lines into his face when his hands were set aflame. They burned and burned, covered in hot coals and spreading a thick cloud of ash. The fire grew up in torrents about his arms, spreading quickly to his chest and sparing no bit of flesh in a storm of combustion.

Waking up. Waking up, was like being dredged up from the bottom of a shallow, stagnant lake. The flithy green algae would float in slow suspension and quietly follow the crippled currents as they churned his mind.

He came up a gelatinous and loosely formed pile of things that had not seen the light of day in quite sometime. He reached the tension that was the water's surface, and pressed his face up against it, groaning and bloating his way until at last it let him pass dully through it.

And then it cushioned him, for which he was thankful, being this fat oily thing on the surface. Thankful because it was incredibly hot out.

He could hear cicada in the distance, droning out their long vibrations into the simmering wind as they watched the world bake.

Things were starting to become sensual as he ground up against the dry bank with his vague fleshy composure. Still melty but enjoying the feeling of being stewed. He breathed in heavily, letting the back of his mind tingle with the sultry buzzing of it all.

Someone was chewing sticks not far off in the woods that enclosed this hot waking place. He could almost feel the heavy labored breathing of the earth, and the thing that was chewing the sticks, it didn't understand how abrasive the sound was.

Suddenly, with terrifying speed he could see inside the mouth, as the gritty pulp and rotting bark went dank and moist into oblivion with the squelching and rubbing up against the jaws that were so obliviously macerating.

What had once been green and syrupy, had been sucked dry and a sapling baked. A twig to be done away with. Terrifying. Ripped apart against the cold white enamel. The dead sensuality of the event was a musty husk being broken down by the sick wet saliva of End to be spat back out into the breathing earth and sucked back into the Start.

Still feeling bloaty, the stick chewing was becoming a little more parsed, saying things like Draco and wake up, but the words were distant because the sound of chewing was so intense and grinding and assaulting Draco's melted and tubby awareness like slapping at water and feeling it come back against you and go away grumpy and miffed.

That was how he felt, and when his mind finally made the mental verbalization, the understanding that he was an old man watching the other retired people chew prunes and think about what it was like to be young and run through sprinklers.

And Draco didn't know what the hell a sprinkler was, or who the fuck was thinking about old people. But it made sense, and the cicadas agreed. While the whined away their one day to get fucked and die.

Glad to still be wet, he hoped he wouldn't dry out too soon and become a husk to be raped by the passage of time. And who ever it was that had thought about the old people, the other gelatinous blob who was also thinking about thinking so much to be dead at such a young age and to carry the burden of this pudding around for the rest of his living life, having been already dead. Who ever that was. They agreed with Draco about husks.

And disdaining the idea of getting a bunch of dirt in your mouth and all down your throat to the point where it got inside your skin and soaked away all that you had been carefully sucking into the membranes of your body, and soul.

But at that point everything would probably be neutral, which was why the texture of floral wall paper, and the having to hang onto the whole social construct of playing games and politics and the shallow things that other people tried to shove into you. Why boredom was like death, finished the other one that wasn't Draco.

If they got too close, the density of their sensually floating bodies would suck them together in an irrevocable coalescence. So Draco lumbered over to the other side of the pond, skirting away from the other massive girth with grace befitting the rotund aristocrat that he was.

For despite how much of it had been posturing, even here, between the slipping and the heat (chewing and slapping), he still had a certain yearning for the aesthetic qualities of the bohemian and the aristocrat. To polarity of the two, the swelling interplay of light and dark, loose and refined, the bond between them was what drew him.

Vibrant and full of dynamism - that was what people who were old and bored had forgotten about being able to do. So they just thought about it, and the chewing. They probably always heard the chewing by that time, the End, the snuffing.

Draco breathed out and all this rushed out or paused or something, and he was awoken suddenly to find himself looking about the room with blazing clarity. Such that even in the dim warm light of the late night hospital room, everything was visible and shimmering with sheer reality, and Draco's eyes looked around with smooth sensual wisps of bonding and attachment to even the most mundane.

He looked over at Harry, who still lay on the bed like someone had dropped him from a great height to lay sprawled and bleeding open on the hot pavement. But in looking at him, into him the way he was, he knew him to be alright.

Out of the shadows of the corner of the room, as if she had been haunting the clock that read simply, 'half past you should stop caring at this point, its late', his mother came into view. She wore a long black traveling cloak, that hung about her shoulders with a great weight. Everything, from her long platinum hair, to the way she clung to the edge of the bed, told Draco that she had been windswept and deflated by some burden of extreme sadness.

"Is it father?" he reached out to hold her hand softly, both of them warmed slightly by the touch and their arrangement under the soft glow of the light in the lamps. Draco was propped, prince like and sallow against the pillows, and she came to sit by his side on the bed, running her thumb over his knuckles in that sweet motherly way.

She shook her head slowly, adding a little half laugh to the mix, and looking at him with watery eyes. "No, Draco, he is still alive. How ever fortunate or unfortunate that may be."

All the lines in her still rather youthful face grew deep for a moment, as she clutched at a small silver dragon, hung around her neck. As Draco stared at it, he could imagine its sound, as tarnished and dark as it has always been, since before he could properly remember.

"No, Draco, I come bearing grave news." She looked into his eyes, and there he saw the deepest of sadness, regret, and fear. It was the fear that stood upon her trembling lips and kept what ever sorrowful confession locked within.

Malfoy, despite still feeling somewhat disjointed, felt a focused rush of importance. Like the premonition of some defining event, a shudder that renewed his clarity of mind so that he could take in all of the moments that followed.

Narcissa drew in a deep breath, and moved to place her hand on top of his; Draco was glad for the lack of preamble. "I must ask you just to let me speak this… or I shant ever be able to get it out."

Draco nodded, noting the cold feeling of his mother's smooth hands, and the way they trembled slightly, in preparation for her speech. She had the same long delicate hands as he.

"Draco… you are our only son. Our only son. The only male heir to the Malfoy name in your generation." She looked at him, as if hoping he would just mystically understand something. She continued after a pause, realizing he wasn't going to connect the dots.

"Your father, my father, their father's fathers, all of them were subject to an almost sacred obligation. The obligation of continuing our lineage… I spent my entire life believing in this sacred preservation of the purest of magical blood. Believing that something as profound and wonderful as magical ability would rely on such petty means of expression.

Draco, I no longer care about our blood, your blood, your father's blood. This world isn't about such distinctions." She was looking at him again, pleadingly, and the slight tautness in her voice and the little stumbles and contortions in her face, they told Draco that they were nearing the heart of the matter.

He glanced sidelong at Potter, not sure if he wanted him to be awake and listening on the sly, or dead asleep. He looked to be dead, at least; Draco didn't think anyone was that good at looking like they were simply a loose sack of blood and guts. Handsome though, handsome sleeping meat sack. Draco was certainly beyond sanity.

"I would have you do what ever it is your heart desires. And until now, until this, I had hoped that you could. People find love in the strangest of places, the strangest of times.

… But it seems your father had other plans. I always knew the marriage would be arranged, I just had hoped he wouldn't stoop so low."

"What are you talking about mother? I have forsworn all allegiance to him. He has no power over me, over us, so far as the extent of his wand..."

His mother held up a shushing hand, and he saw a sob wrack through her body, but she stifled it, intent on pushing forward.

"That - I'm sorry… my dear son. That is the unfortunate truth. You see, your father, many years ago, in secret. He - he performed such darkness…. When it comes to delivering results, you father is ruthless, perhaps even more so than - than … Voldemort."

They both drew in a hushed breath and felt a great chill fall over them, floating down around their shoulders with a blanket of seriousness and sincerity. Again, she held up a a finger to her mouth, her lips trembling violently now.

" I found him, the man who helped your father do this to you. His name is Roren Götten. Severus and I, hunted him down and forced him to tell us what had befallen you. I had my suspicions, when Dumbledore told me what you two had done, but I never believed it. I have been so blind! So blind to your father's cruelty, his drive to satisfy his desires is more deprave than I could have ever imagined. I am so sorry, my son. The depth of my pity knows no bounds."

She lapsed into silence, and looked away, clearly in pain from what ever she was about to admit. He let her take a moment to compose herself, but began to rub her hand, gently nudging her to continue. Strangely he wasn't frazzled or nervous about what she was going to say, for though he was lucid, his emotions still seemed suppressed, neutral, and unintelligible.

"He has bound you my love, from all love and loving contact aside from those he would deem… beneficial to the continuation of the lineage. That terrible dark lineage."

She looked to see If he understood, but he had already moved on to stare at the bed to his right. He was looking without really looking. Staring into a different reality, the one within himself. And what he saw there she could not guess, but the single tear that was running down his face told her of more sorrow than she had ever hoped would befall her only son. She looked down at her forearm, where the faint lines of more than one oath were burned into her flesh.

Draco was rather glad that the emotional upheaval that was moving itself ominously in the dark lake that was his mind, was still refusing to be translated into english. If he could think about how he felt in english, it would mean that he was able to connect it to things in the vast web of tragic associations in his life; then, like a fly caught in the sickly sticky web, he would be devoured.

So he was quite content in a way, to just ride the wave, and feel it pull tight his chest and heave a silent tear. He was looking at Potter, and was glad he didn't care why. Even if they could never again be together.

They sat this way for what must have been an hour, until suddenly the gentle rubbing of his mother's hand reminded him of her presence. He looked at her, and they shared that kind of morose loving look that only a mother and child can share.

"There is no way to cure it then? To lift the curse."

She breathed out heavily, and said, in almost a whisper, "Non, mon cheri."

"Ne déspérez pas, ma mère. My life was never meant to be easy."

"...Will you tell him?"

He looked over at the boy who had always been his enemy, his rival, the origin of all his excess passion and emotion. Negative until the day he had forsaken his past, in favor of becoming strong for the future, all because that boy could smile in all his whimsy even on the precipice of certain death. And then, coming to understand that behind the facade of happiness, a mere analogue to Draco's own icy grey shield, was a boy just as alone in the darkness.

Harry stirred slightly in his sleep, just as slightly as the urge to comfort this lonely boy had begun to grow and work its timid roots in Draco's heart. He had cut loose the web of haughty pretensions that he had paraded about his whole life, and just for a moment, Draco had seen the light of what could be a true bond of friendship beginning to form.

And now they would forever be destined to remain platonic. He felt briefly, an echo of their kiss, and shuddered as another tear escaped him, mourning for what might have been. He reminded himself that Potter had only played along to console him, so as to make the loss of the whole prospect a little lighter to bear.

It was self delusion, but few things in this world weren't, he supposed.

"I wish I could sit here all night with you, hold you like I did when you were young and I could protect you from all the darkness in this world. I wish I could give you better than this. But the house, it cannot be left alone too long."

"Like I said mother, do not despair. I understand. Go now, I need rest. You know. And no, I won't be telling him."

"Ma cheri, you cannot lie to me" She reached out to pinch his cheek like she had done when he was a child, but then got up and left swiftly, glancing back at the door to give him a quiet smile.

She was right, he hadn't wanted her to leave because he needed rest. All Draco really wanted to do was be alone, so he was free to just ride the current of his mind with out feeling the need or pressure to verbalize anything.

He was certainly spending quite a lot of fucking time in bed these days, and hoped it wouldn't lead to some sort of debilitating weakness. It was good to feel indignant again though. After being bored for so long ,that time under the ice, he was glad it wasn't looking to be permanent.

He moved a little bit, realizing for the first time that something hard was digging into his back. It took literally every ounce of effort contained within him to reach around and grab at it.

As soon as he had it in his hands he collapsed back into the pillow, with laboured breath. Draco lay there, for a few minutes, enjoying just the breathing in and laughing at himself for being so worn out. It was almost pleasurable, like an exertion high, he was still a bit loopy too, from being dead so long.

Eventually he got around to looking at the piece of metal and cloth that he was holdi- he let out a gasp and dropped the little medallion, stunned to see it again, but also reeling in the wealth of emotions that surged forth in an endless stream of bottled up nostalgia.

He thought for the tiniest of moments, about the grief for his long murdered owl, but it was followed in rapid succession, like a great orgasmic rush, by all the positive memories of his past that had been so roughly stolen from him by the attack of the Dementors.

He beamed across at his savior, who mumbled something in his sleep, perhaps in reaction to the pure ecstasy that was radiating from Draco's mind. He felt himself dissolving again, but this time the warmth felt beyond mere warmth, it was the blazing heat of years of joy, burning all at once and melting away the last of the ice in a fiery glory.

He lay back, exhausted and asleep before his head hit the pillow. Unfettered by the news that he could never again touch the one he craved.

-ooo-

Someone was making tea when Harry awoke. He felt distinctly worn out, like he had been running a great distance, and spent a great amount of time as a puddle, but never the less he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Good afternoon, Harry." Said the familiar voice of Dumbledore, somewhere to his left.

Still feeling a bit deadened, he merely huffed, and threw up his hands a little bit, realizing that he had been breathing very shallow. He hoped that Dumbledore would understand that he was asking what the hell had happened to him.

"I can't really say for sure, given that no one but yourself really knows what happened. But you are showing all the signs of having your mind invaded by Voldemort. But as to why, that is something I cannot say."

He looked at Harry, and in his eyes there was comfort and patience, that calmed Harry down enough that he let out the breath he had been subconsciously holding. He hadn't been breathing during the time of the episode, and so now, when he didn't breathe all the emotions came rushing back in an echo on the wind.

He felt distinctly rushed to figure out the reason behind his madness, his darkness, and his pain, but as always the old man - his very presence was like a soft touch on the shoulder, that grounded him and blew away all the stress.

He sank into the hospital bed, and felt at ease. Not everything had to be done all at once.

Just as he was about to lapse again into a light drowse, green flames shot up in the fireplace, and to his left Malfoy bolted out of his slumber.

"mmmfuck… Potter would you keep it down?"

Harry was not in the mood for the little snot. So instead he just looked over at the blond git and gave him the heaviest of death glares, laced with a little bit of betrayal. Almost like "what happened to us kissing?" but not getting too close, because then they might have to talk about it.

So he didn't even look or notice that Narcissa had come in with her now famous (in Harry's subconscious) cinnamon rolls, he was instead thinking that it was back to being lonely, and feeling the empty lack of presence in his life.

He tried to subsume himself in the soft warm cotton of his bed, willing the plush down pillow and heavy comforter to do their jobs, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but feel a little morose. And now he would have to explain to Dumbledore all the things he'd said to the minister, leaving out the bit about the fluffy pink bitch. And then they could talk about lord Voldemort.

Suddenly, saying the name again in his head, he felt a string of tension break within him, unleashing a wave of panic, and letting loose the idea that he was going to have to face Voldemort in mortal combat. One of them was going to die.

He looked down at his hands, wondering what had brought about all this angst. He used to be able to just shove all these thoughts down into a deep part of himself and put a smile on his face. He used to think that it was possible to just keep his angst sequestered until this war was over, so that he could be the hero everyone needed.

But he wasn't, and that was the truth, he'd lied about it to Scrimgeour. He was just Harry fucking Potter. A fucking poofter who up and collapsed at the slightest blow. He took the roll that was handed to him with mute gratitude on his face, proud that he could at least be outwardly polite, to a minimum, even as he contemplated his inadequacy.

He was watching Draco now, who also looked weak, reserved, but somehow not as concerned as he was. There were dark rings under his eyes, and he shook a little bit as he ate, yet still he was beautiful. Perhaps it was the dogged loneliness that they both possessed that allowed Harry to see the radiant love that was just waiting to be unleashed.

He was getting gushy now, and hurried to eat his role to distract himself. One kiss was all it took apparently, to set his heart a flutter. He could feel all of those things Malfoy had left him in the pensive, welling up inside him in a great wave, so he rushed to get ahead of it and sat their with a strained look on his face, until it passed. He must have looked stupid, but he was well past impressing people anymore, his meeting with the minister was certainly testament to that.

Harry turned to Dumbledore, fighting back the exhaustion that wracked his mind when he thought about having a full on conversation. "I suppose you'll want to hear about my meeting with the minister then?"

And so for the next twenty minutes Dumbledore waited patiently while Harry confessed to being quite bristled during the meeting, and having burned some bridges and been overly abrasive. He was getting to the point of just babbling now, and still Dumbledore was just waiting patiently, almost as if he was waiting for Harry to just get to the heart of the matter.

He knew Dumbledore was trying to coax out Harry's uncertainty about his fate, but he wasn't going to do that now, not with Draco and his mother in the room. Draco was weak, uncertain, he told himself, so any hint of uncertainty on Harry's part was sure to send him whimpering right back to Lord Voldemort. A little light bulb went off in the back of his mind remembering that he used to suppress his problems by projecting them onto others. He ignored the crushing reality of this new awareness, managing to pacify it by promising to wallow in it the next time he needed to have a break down about himself.

He was Harry fucking Potter goddamnit, maker of magic so powerful it blew a hole in the London Docks. Fuck yeah.

"So I told him that it's he who should be trying to help me, and then I left without a word."

"I get the feeling that you are waiting for me to tell you that you acted rashly, and that perhaps letting your rage slip a little in front of one of the most influential wizards in the current world, that that was probably not the best course of action. You are waiting for me to say that?"

Harry paused for a moment, unsure if agreement was what Dumbledore wanted. After a few seconds of general consternation, he nodded his head.

"Well, then" said Dumbledore, smiling "if you already know what it is I would've liked you to know, then I hardly need to say anything do I?"

"Yes, well, you always seem to know what I'm going to say… but I still say it."

"Mm… sometimes I have found that talking about things out loud is a confession of sorts, it makes them real. But I've done quite enough living, that by this point I have hardly anything left to confess."

"Do you think I've done any permanent damage to my reputation?"

"With the minister? No, I think, in the long run at least, you have probably garnered a little bit of respect. People often take the greatest offense to the truth, don't you think?"

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who seemed to be in a daze, but looked sharply in his direction when he noticed Harry's glare.

"Regardless, I think the real thing we should be concerned about is why Voldemort was able to penetrate your mind."

"… well, I was feeling quite… dark." He looked down at his hands, anywhere but the eyes of Malfoy, the eyes he could feel searching him in surprise. The little tingle at the base of his skull told him so. The watched tingle.

"Was it as intense as the time when you collapsed in front of Malfoy?"

Harry was a bit taken a back, wondering if the old man really had to say it that way, like he was some kind of overly emotional waif. But really Dumbledore wouldn't ever mean anything like that, so he thanked the man for his honest manner of speaking (silently of course) and said, "No, it was just a general feeling. I'm trying to remember, but I don't remember ever feeling a spike or sudden overwhelming emotion. Could their be anything else?"

"The nature of your link with Voldemort is an enigma beyond compare in this world I'm afraid. An unknown piece of magic, with unknown triggers and unknown consequences." He seemed to look a little wizened for a second, before saying, "I am truly sorry, Harry, for that horribly lonely year I subjected you to."

Harry, who had been awkwardly leaning forward with his arms dangling dead in his lap, leaned back and smiled, having already well forgiven the man. "Don't worry about it professor, it was training."

"Training for what my dear boy?"

Harry willed himself not to glance sidelong at Draco, as he told Dumbledore of his loneliness. The blond rolled over in his bed at Harry's words, seemingly a bit miffed about something.

It was odd to think that they had gone from being each other's arch nemesis, to enjoying a budding friendship, perhaps romance even, and now the vibes between them had grown cold. The only change was an overwhelming sadness that now tinged what was sure to be an initiation of stubborn standoffishness in the future.

The space between them had grown vast again, and though Harry had assumed this was going to happen from the start, he somehow didn't feel the need to chastise himself for being so hopelessly foolish. There was a tap at the door, and Ron came gingerly into the room, holding his favorite chess set in his hands. Harry had never wanted to play chess less in his life, but he had never wanted the companionship of his friend more, so he smiled when Ron sat down a little sheepishly by his bed.


	14. Onion Soup

A/N: Going to see Part II tonight! So excited I can barely handle it.

This also comes with a bit of moroseness (you may have assumed from my writing, that most things do). I realized that the final moments of this movie are the final moments of my childhood. Despite being 19, this story, and many others I suppose, connect me to my child self. And now its over. :[

But this isn't, not by a long shot. They still have so much angst to get over. I know sometimes this gets a little sluggish, but I really try to write as authentically as possible from all these places of being. So yeah, I might beat you over the head with all their multitudinous emotions, but that's how it feels for them too. So just suck it up ya pansies, killing siberian giants would be an easier task than being a hormonal teenage wizard hero/anti-hero.

Let the butthurt ensue!

-ooo-

They played three games of chess, speaking a little more as each game passed. Still, Harry lost every single one, even after all these years. He relished in the familiar and comforting feeling of the pieces beneath his hand (except for the bishop, who had always been quite fussy about being handled) and the calm that settled about his mind as he subsumed himself in strategy.

They started off with Quidditch, Ron's usual topic of breech, earning a few muffled laughs from Draco. Then Ron grew steadily deeper, as deep as you could go with Ron. The twins were up to their usual pranks, and apparently some of their more experimental products somehow found Ginny at the worst of times. She had been quite morose all summer, not speaking much and just generally being aversive.

He caught Draco curling his lips at the mention of Ginny, but as their eyes met, he turned away and seemed to sink in on himself. He'd always known Draco to be a thinker, but until recently it had never occurred to Harry that it might be about anything more than pureblood prattle. Ron on the other hand, he had a different kind of thinking, non-linear and strictly unacademic in style. It was probably to do with that fact that he had never once thought about the act of thinking itself, the awareness of being a thinker.

Intuition, Harry supposed, was probably the most apt word for it. It certainly explained his ability to pull a check mate out of the deepest corners of his ass, thought Harry with mild furry as he lost yet another game.

"Don't beat yourself up about it mate, you're getting better. Plus, I hear you aren't at the top of your game."

"That's putting it mildly…" Silence fell a little bit, and Ron looked on imploringly, hoping that Harry wouldn't make him pry. Harry on the other hand, was in need of a distraction, talking about his pussy-footed attempts at keep the Dark Lord out of his mind was only going to make him think about it further. Better to just keep the crazy all locked up inside, so everyone else didn't have to bear the burden of his insanity. So he decided to change the tack of the conversation a bit, back to things that were less consequential.

"I really should go and see Ginny, we haven't really talked since we decided to just be friends."

Ron looked at him for a moment, and Harry swore he could see at least three emotions playing across the conscious part of Ron's mind. He saw confusion, over the status of Ginny and Harry, anger, in that fiercely protective way of his, and then disappointment that Harry didn't want to talk about truly serious matters.

"And how did that come about?" He asked, finally. Draco too, seemed to stir from his maudlin existence.

"Could you imagine kissing her? Being intimate with your own sister?"

Ron pulled a disgusted face before settling into thought for just a moment. He seemed consternated for the merest of moments, before like light, he flashed a grin.

"Well I suppose that's just testament then."

"Testament to what?" asked Harry, relieved that Ron had taken the news well, but also confused. In his mind this news had a fifty-fifty chance of being something for Ron to get at least a tiny bit feisty.

"To how well we've sewn you in of course. If you can't kiss my sister, than you must be my brother." He grinned cheekily, and for the first time in longer than Harry cared to remember, they both laughed their hearts out. When finally they ceased, Ron began to pack up his things, and was soon standing by the door.

"Well, it's been nice knowing you Harry, I'll be sure to tell Hermione about how deathly terminally ill you are. Not surprised the med-heads haven't seen any improvement though, clearly the dementia must be pretty potent if you don't mind being in here, with him."

Harry knew Ron was only joking about Harry being on death's door, ready for the taking, but when it came to Malfoy, he knew Ron was dead serious. And for some reason (Harry knew it to be his urge to have that kiss again, but he squashed that thought with speed) Harry didn't like the tone of Ron's sarcasm.

"Hey now, be nice Ronald, or I will have to tell Hermione that you've been badmouthing her newest study partner. And it was nice to see you too, one final time." He waved Ron out with a dramatic flourish, and was left, in the absence of his friend, feeling an odd mixture of things. He was sated, calm, but also apprehensive about what kind of anger lay deep in the subconscious grindings of Ron's brain.

A dark tone cut across is overall feeling of niceness, and he turned rather sour again within an instant of it reaching his ears.

"Do you two always take it upon yourselves to act like such complete bafoons?"

"I suppose I can always trust you to bring me back into the crushing reality of my mortal fate then, can't I?" Said Harry sharply, biting into the air with his words.

As if his words had actually bitten into the blond's supple flesh, Malfoy deflated once more, looking extremely mollified.

Flipping from spite to guilt in an instant, Harry offered "I used to be like him, or I thought I could be."

Draco looked stern for a moment, before biting at Harry's hook. "And when was that?"

"When I first became a wizard, the very short few months I spent as an unburdened youth. For the first time I thought I might be able to let go of - of some of my past. And then, well you know the rest."

Having just learned of the complete enormity of his dark past, anyone else's whining was intolerable. A distinct trickle in his hands told Draco his blood was boiling.

"Oh yes, hearing that fat lump of flesh you call your cousin pleasure himself at night, yes that must have caused some deep psychosis. How ever did you live through it?"

Malfoy could have sworn he felt another surge of magical aura blast out from Potter at the end of his sardonic retort, but he was still a bit loopy and not fully in control of his perception. But then he saw Harry shaking, and realized that he may have gone to far.

"What the fuck, Malfoy! One minute you're kissing me, and the next you can't keep your filthy pureblood mouth from spewing bile all over the damn place. Get the fuck over yourself."

A mollified silence fell over the both of them, until Draco said, in rather hushed tones,

"We weren't meant to be friends anyway, so why don't we just quit now. Quit before this becomes just another scar for the both of us to carry around."

"Oh so you're just going to run away then? I always knew you were a fucking coward. You can spout things off about being lonely and ready to accept a real bond into your life. But really you're just scared shitless of being tied down to something other than your own ridiculous pretentions." Harry finished, looking slightly flushed and a little out of breath. In his eyes Draco saw clearly how deeply the loss of their friendship was going to cut into Harry, and he looked away, unable to bear the pain. He didn't even have space in his mind to think about the truth of Harry's words.

He buried himself in his bed, hoping that Harry would eventually give up waiting for a response, knowing that if he just cut away the bond now, they would both be the better for it. He would just have to morn the loss of what ever that kiss might have brought in his future, some other time. He fought hard to bite back the tears, as Harry rolled over and turned his back on Malfoy in a huff.

No matter how hard he tried, Draco could not help but feel the echo of Harry's body hot and warm beside him, under the covers, wet and naked in the bath, and shivering with life as they held each other during the kiss. He let himself cry freely now, truly realizing that he was going to have to nurse these memories forever, the closest he would ever get to loving Harry Potter.

He was to be at his father's mercy for eternity.

Dumbledore returned to find them both laying upon the rock again, that flat rock in the middle of a sea of loneliness. It was a wonder they hadn't realized by now how close they were in that terrible darkness, the calm between the storms of life. All they need was to reach out and touch, overcome the barrier that held them on the tantalizing edge of forever and passion.

Dumbledore took a seat in the darkest corner of the room, but not before transfiguring the bound up floor mat that they called a seat into something for comfortable. He settled his great bones, and drew up his hands so that his elbows rested on the arm rests, and his palms faced each other across the distance.

Slowly, he began to move them ever so slightly closer together, feeling immediately the loose limit of his magical aura. Minutes passed, and he drew his hands steadily through the increasingly dense levels of himself, feeling the sweep of inertia that came after breaking through each boundary. And like the two boys who lay alone, his hands reached the innermost sanctum, and he felt as the storms, the past, the future, and the calm between, the present.

Watching the room now, his eyes aglow with the fortune of time, he looked deep into the thing that was Draco Malfoy, seeing at once the dark roots that wound deeply into his past, like creeping wet vines that bound him against all happiness. They throbbed with the pain of all this sad boy's life, but even more, the summation of all those past. All the dark evil in this world, Draco's curse connected him to this taint, and Dumbledore could see vile blood red swimming up through the dark vines.

It throbbed with a sickening sensual haste, beating faster now in anticipation of what was to come. So dense were the tendrils of all that is alone and forgotten in this world, thrusting and weeping deep and tangled all around the boy, that it was hardly possible to see anything clearly. Try as he might, in that meditative self delusion of not trying, but trying to flow in that direction, Dumbledore could not see into the misty past of Draco Malfoy.

So original, primal, was the curse that wound around this boy, he knew only one thing. That he had seen it before. Though never as bloody, as carnal as he was seeing now. Before his very eyes the pustules of dank blood burst and began to leek out their tepid liquid.

An ancient heart, the core of darkness, beat somewhere in the great distance of time, and now, here, the flow had become irregular, like the dying bevels of flesh still beating in some great dirty beast. It came fast, shooting out thick globs of red blood, coating the floors and collecting in a rank pool about his feet. Other times it would seem to coagulate, damning up the putrid boils for a moment, until they came sputtering back into flow. The faint blue lips were fluttering with each shaky breath that passed the boy's lips, quivering as he keened softly in his sleep.

The sun was beginning to come up now, shinning a feeble light into the room, doing nothing to dispel the mesmerizing but terrifying vision that held the old man in its clutches. It was all the elder wizard could do to keep from collapsing at the enormity of what he was seeing, and yet still he did not know what any of it meant. His mind was swimming now, overwhelmed with the bleeding behemoth that lay gasping before him, curling around its victim with a sluggish but visceral predation.

He was just about to release his mind from this bloody slobbering thing, when something shone for just an instant in the morning light, a small glow clutched in Draco's hand. Wading through the sloshing blood, grown cold around his knees, Dumbledore made his way over to Draco's bedside.

The area surrounding the glowing light was curdled over with layers of crusted puss, scarred and bleeding. Thickly grown was the nest of sickened skin, nearly as old as the boy, sewn into his wand arm at some dark point in his youth.

Malfoy let out a long low moan in his sleep, in evil synchronicity with the constricting tendons of the fleshy mass. So deep were the vibrations of his keening, that Dumbledore nearly lost his state in the turmoil.

Around his ankles, he could see slick white tendrils reaching out of the blood red lake, seeking new holds for the evil of this rotting heap. He batted them away with a flick of his wand, hearing their high squeals squelching and bubbling back into dark oblivion. Steam was rising now from this putrid mess, and Dumbledore could feel the dank smell filling his mind. Even through the haze that was building inside his mind, he managed to make out the small metal medallion that Draco was clutching in his delicate trembling hands.

All around this thing the black bulbous veins refused the fraternize with the pale expanse of draco's skin, falling away against the feeble light. It too seemed to beat with it's own pulse, driving back the foul blackness with a tentative strength. Some old forgotten thing learning again it's relevance in this world.

He'd seen all that he could see for now, and it was time to return to typical perception, to let the back if his mind ruminate on the roots of this dark past. Letting the picture of this whole event fall evenly into place as he went about the day, unhurried and unfettered by the swirl and grind of the concerned nature of the present.

Letting out a deep breath, he pulled apart his palms and watched as the entire machination of his trance fell away on the wisps of an invisible breeze.

The blonde nurse, the one that had been passing by all day, came in to offer him some tea. Her mind was practically leaking with the smell of pink fluffy felines, and Dumbledore did not accept any of her offers, told her not to comeback. He would arrange for a different nurse, perhaps someone from the order. Tonks would probably be more than happy to do it, she'd been dropping by Grimmauld happily enough.

The old man let his gaze wander from his grizzled dead hand, the one that had saved his life in a bout of chivalrous irony, to the two boys still lain stricken on a rock at sea. So alike in misery and opportunity, so full of magic, just as he had been in his youth, just as Grindlewald.

The sun began to rise in ernest now, and the first golden rays if the morning suffused the close space, swirling warmth into the air, mixing like the amber clouds of tea in his lap. The wizened man leaned back into his chair, letting the heat of the day smooth over the roughness of the nostalgic waves that were washing over him.

He must send a letter.

-ooo-

Harry awoke with a start. The same feeling of having just been rushed though something intestinal, that he'd been waking up with everyday lately. He looked over at Malfoy who looked positively ghoulish, feeling his mind flash with vague impressions of dark vines. With a great effort, and despite his morning stiffness, Harry hauled himself to the side of the bed and peered over the edge.

Dumbledore chuckled softly from what was now a soft plush chair, and Harry realized how tight knit his face had been. Just a minute ago, he would have sworn to have seen blood on the floor.

"He is alright, Harry, at least for the moment."

"So... Then all of that, that was all just in my head? The blood on the floor, the vines all -" Harry gestured vaguely to Malfoy and around his neck.

Dumbledore simply nodded and then said, "Sometimes though, the most potent insights are brought about by the power of foresight."

"Imagination you mean, none of it turned out to be real."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, looking from Harry to Draco with a questioning glance. "Look at him and tell me none of it was real. Tell me he isn't suffering, and that wasn't just your mind giving it a shape. Just as your mind gives shape to your magic, so it is the same with everything."

Harry thought for a moment, letting Dumbledore's words fly to the back of his mind and settle. It was far too dense to really comprehend this early in the morning, and besides, he would need to really have the experience again for it to all make sense.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are really getting at, professor. Haven't you written a book or anything? I should hope I will have the time to write a book in my life."

"And what would that book be about, Harry?"

"Don't think I won't pester you about the book, sir, just because you've changed the topic. And I'm not sure yet. Isn't the point of growing up to find something worth writing a book about?"

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Perhaps I will write a treatise on the efficacy of lemon drops."

"And what exactly is the efficacy of lemon drops?" Draco was pulling himself out of the dugout he'd worn into his mattress, looking quite the old curmudgeon.

"Well, Draco, I suppose you'll have to read the book to find out."

Draco leaned back into his freshly plumped pillows with a 'humph', looking positively brimming with the excitement of learning the deepest secrets of muggle candies.

Harry, of course, knew there was nothing at all special about lemon drops, and laughed along with Dumbledore. Not that Draco was really all that concerned, probably just a little now, in the grogginess of the morning.

So the they just settled into waiting, waiting for the next scheduled event of fate. They sipped the tea that Dumbledore offered them, lazing about in a quiet lassitude. Harry had a small moment of panic, the kind that took hold of a mind that felt itself stuck. For a moment he felt as though he had been sitting in this hospital his entire life, trading snipes with Draco, and making cryptic conversation with his headmaster. Although, his life had been so absurd lately, that the general feeling was the same, nothing was real, nothing he did really mattered.

Hell, he'd run off for three weeks, and everyone seemed very willing to pretend it hadn't happened. Voldemort, and Malfoy, they were the only ones who kept him honest. And Dumbledore too, but only because he had such faith in him. These were comforting and terrifying thoughts, as he supposed the best always were.

He looked over at Draco, halfway determined to decide how he felt about the proud blonde. Also halfway hoping something would happen to distract him. And, another non-existent half of him realized that nothing true could be decided so fast. The real truth of the universe lay in the subtle waves of unintelligible thought and emotion.

So he let this take hold of his breathing, and it was probably some sort of love, but it wasn't worth thinking about. Now that Draco had called them over before even being done.

He heard a soft pop at the hospital apparition point, perking up at the thought of fresh company. He heard a crash and the familiar sound of Nymphadora's apology, followed by the warm deeps tones of Remus Lupin. By the time they rounded the corner Harry had plastered a smile on his face, and a quick glance at Draco told him the boy was also anticipating something.

They came in looking thoroughly disheveled, Tonks with her mishap, and Remus with his usual haggard way about him. Still, the warmth in their togetherness brightened the room. Remus made his way over to Dumbledore, handing him a small manilla envelope.

"That's the last I'm afraid, it seems someone has let my identity slip. I'm afraid it may have been one of my former students. Recognized my smell."

Despite the hushed tones, Harry heard every word, and was immediately thankful that Lupin's undercover work was over.

"Well, that's good, I suppose it's time for your life to quiet down a bit isn't it?" Harry called from across the room, not caring that they knew he'd overheard.

"I agree." Said Dumbledore, and Tonks mimicked him with enthusiasm. They all turned to Draco, who shrugged unceremoniously.

"I suppose you'll be coming back to teach now that Snape is no longer allowed outside during the day." He drawled.

The group turned to look at Dumbledore in unison this time, to find a smile and a nod. "If you'll take the position back that is. I'm afraid I haven't had too much time to round up anyone this summer."

"That is wonderful news!" said Harry at the top of his unused vocal cords. Which is to say that he wasn't very loud. But still, the look on Lupin's face went from doubt to assuredness in an instant.

"Slughorn is still staying on then?" Asked Lupin with an inquisitive air.

"Yes, and I've already asked him about making the wolfsbane. He said it would take him awhile to get used to brewing it, wont be quite as good as some of Severus' finest work. And he'll charge you too I'm afraid, but not as much as a commercial potion."

Lupin was caught between relief and being crestfallen, but smiled none the less and turned to hug Tonks tightly.

Harry was watching Malfoy, wondering about what he might say. If he was going to offer his help again. His pale lips were drawn into a tight line, in step with the knit of his brow. Even if they weren't going to be friends (mother fucker) Harry was determined to be supportive, and hoped that the words that were trembling on his delicate flesh would be let free before the moment passed.

His heart was beating in his ears with the perceived drama of the moment, now was the time to act, now was the time to make amends. Now was the time to break out of this stagnation and become a part of the world as a true person. Harry couldn't be yet, he still had to be a hero, but he wasn't about to let Draco miss his chance. He willed this to Draco, urging his thoughts to pass right into Draco's mind.

Silver eyes turned to look at his own green portals, his face tight as if against the deluge of mental power from Harry. Everyone else seemed to notice as well, for they were back to staring, and though for a moment Harry saw fear and cowardice in those grey eyes, he soon gave up and sank back, resigned to the fact that Harry wasn't going to let him _not_ do this.

"Let me do it, professor." Mute silence followed, and Harry gave him another look to coax out the motive.

"He never told you, never told anyone, but I've been helping him make it for years. I know how to do it almost better than he does, and I won't do it bitterly either. It will be made with compassion, that I can promise." He smiled, probably to keep himself from crying, and Harry's heart broke with the realization of what it would mean to Malfoy, to be allowed to do something worth existing for.

Silence passed, and so too came a little bit of panic as Malfoy realized he hadn't quite sold them yet. He fidgeted nervously with the hem of his sheet, before pressing on.

"And towards the end, he even let me help with the potion he was giving you, headmaster. He never told me who they were for, only that I needed the practice, if I was to become a potions master."

"And is that still what you intend to do, Draco?" Asked Dumbledore, without the slightest bit of surprise at any of this news.

Draco nodded enthusiastically, hoping Dumbledore would tip the scales in his favor.

-ooo-

And so it was, Lupin and Tonks agreed, at Dumbledore's behest that they would let Draco brew the potion, this month at least.

Draco had sat up fully now, with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. "We've got to get to Diagon Alley then, I don't have any of the ingredients, and Severus was running low towards the end of last year."

Suddenly he lay back again, bringing his hands up to his face. Harry tried not to focus too much on the pale expanse of perfect skin that was exposed over the top of Malfoy's Pajamas. "But I- the entire fortune is being held at Gringots."

"I've already told you Malfoy, I'll be buying all the ingredients for potions this year, as payment for you tutoring me." He didn't really know how this was going to work out, but knew very well that Lupin was just as bad at accepting charity as he was. They weren't going to just let him pay for it if there wasn't a reason.

Malfoy sat up with about a million emotions flashing across his features, they moved by so quickly that the whole thing quickly turned into a deadpan. Dumbledore chuckled, and Lupin and Tonks looked scrutinizingly between the both of them.

"Don't think I've forgotten about our arrangement. This is payment for my teaching you the Patronus, seeing as you turned out to be awful at occlumency."

It took a few moments for Draco to comprehend what Harry had said. He blanched and looked for a minute as if he was going to say something snide. Instead, he lay back on the bed, muttering "Of course, how could I forget."

It had been a long couple of weeks since he had endevoured to teach Malfoy the patronus. It had been a long couple of weeks since his life had had any sort of normalcy. It had been a long couple of weeks since he could be sure that the next day would be ...consistent.

Harry just wanted to know that his emotions could be consistent from day to day. That other people could be consistent. That fucking Malfoy could be consistent.

And now Lupin was beaming at him. "Well, it seems a few of my students will be quite ahead of the game this year, I'll have to restructure some of my lesson plans. Maybe you can help me when we get to the Patronus? I hear we could all stand to learn something from you."

Harry blushed, trying to escape the smile of his professor, and heard Draco roll over with a groan.

"Ever the bashful one, eh?" Tonks was standing on the other side of the bed now, and Harry, in his embarrassment, felt this whole hospital thing quite uneccessary. He was feeling better, thoughts were coming easier, and he was even able to fabricate white lies, so there it was, and he was fine.

He pushed himself up of the bed, determinadely ignoring the petulant throbbing of his temples, and made to stand. "I suppose we will have to be getting to Diagon Alley soon then, the full moon is next week, right?"

"Well I guess you seem alright, what about Draco?" said Tonks cheerily.

He had half rolled over again, and in the soft light, with his hair disheveled, and his one arm thrown back, he looked thoroughly debauched. And a stirring in Harry's robes told him he very much liked the idea of that. If only their kiss looked like it could lead somewhere.

"I suppose I am free to go whenever I feel fine?" He was sitting up now, and looking questioningly at Dumbledore.

"Yes the mediwizards said both of you were free to be discharged as soon as you were feeling up to it. There was no physical harm done, and I'm sure some fresh air could do you both some good."

"Alright, well then I suppose Lupin and I should leave you to it. We just came in to say hello, Harry. Oh and..." she crossed over to Draco and pulled a long silver chain out of he traveling cloak, and passed it awkwardly to him.

"It belonged to Andromeda's father. She said she wants you to have it, said something about keeping a medallion close." she stepped back to look at him with one of her flourescent pink eyebrows raised, watching as he ran the chain through his hands.

"I see she found what I discussed in the letter?"

"I suppose so. I was wondering what she was talking about." Tonks dropped her crossed arms and went to stand by Lupin, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

Harry, as happy as he was for them, could not help the jealous pang that shot through him, moving to relfexively stroke the very place in his own arm.

"While we're on the subject," said Dumbledore, crossing over to stand between the two of them. He reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew two aged looking envelopes. Harry took his gingerly, feeling as always the overwhelming joy at simply being a wizard. Looking at the familiar script, he was eleven again, trying desperately to wrestle the letter away from the squealing pig hands of his uncle.

"What about tradition?"

Dumbledore snatched the letter back with a smile on his face, and waved his wand in a large circle around himself. With the swift motion he became an owl in a swirl of flowing robes, landing in his iridescent majesty on the end of Harry's bed. Deep blue eyes peered out a him from a white face that was framed in purple blue and gold feathers, spotted here and there by a fleck of white.

Somehow despite his astonishment Harry was able to reach out and accept the letter for the second time. The headmaster ended the transfiguration quickly, and asked Malfoy if he was upset at the lack of owl post as well.

Draco merely shook his head, open mouthed, holding the letter slack in his hands. He looked at Harry, who gave him a cheeky grin, "No one tell Hedwig, but you make a beautiful owl, headmaster."

"Well thank you, Harry, I was thinking about changing up my opening remarks, what do you think?"

"If I'm thinking what you're thinking, then I say go for it. Though, don't be surprised if some of the muggle-born first years wet themselves, I know I would have."

"Well, I'll be sure to have some chocolate ready for anyone who passes out." Lupin clapped him on the shoulder, "You two get washed up and we'll drop you off at the Leaky Couldron on our way home. Dumbledore and I will take care of the paper work while you get ready."

"I think I will drop in on Narcissa, she is probably getting a little stir crazy." Tonks hugged both of them, and gave Draco a little wave before heading down to the apparition point. She caught herself on the doorway, and peeked back in, speaking to Dumbledore. "I've already taken a few days off of work, so if they somehow find themselves back here I can take over for that little blond who ran the cart into me."

-ooo-

Dumbledore had summoned some fluffy white towels for them, and left to wait with Lupin in the waiting room. Harry sat wringing the thing through his hands, not wanting to be the first one to suggest anything. There were two shower heads, separated by the flimsiest and nearly see through linen sheet. Harry blushed as he thought of the bath that they had shared, his memory if it just as vivid as the day it had happened. He'd played it over behind his eyelids so often in his weeks alone that it was permanently embossed in his mind.

He wanted to pretend that it was no big deal, he'd showered with less decency in the quidditch rooms, but this was different. It would be Malfoy's pale form shown misty and blurred through the curtain. Harry glanced over at Draco to see the same stony expression on his face and his hands too, were playing nervously with the towel.

Tension grew taut and vibrant about the room, twanging and sounding with deep tones, setting Harry's nerves on fire. His heart was thudding in his ears, and his mouth was dry no matter how har he sucked his tongue. It was excruciating, but he was determined not to be the one to suggest anything. If Draco was going to be in denial about what they'd done, he was just going to have to force it out of him. With silence.

He breathed out heavily, after waiting at least another minute for Malfoy to say something. Anything. He'd rarely been so anxious, though he supposed it was a good thing, given his recent state of lethargy. All this tension, the adrenaline pumping in his veins at the thought of Malfoy naked next to him yet again. It brought with it the same feeling of heart wrentching pain and loneliness that he had heard trough the thick doors on the night of his flight from everything. He thought about trying to read his Hogwarts letter, but knew he wouldn't be able to focus.

Draco seemed to stir a little bit at Harry's impatient sound, and opened his mouth but did not look at him. "Look, Potter... I know you're thinking about it. And given your limited experience in the matter, I wouldn't be surprised if you're dwelling on it like it's some great romantic thing. Unfortunatly I'm not a poofter like you, it was just... A pureblood thing. For saving me."

He finished his little monologue, and though Harry had been expecting it his rage was lit aflame. Mostly he was probably just mad at himself for even trusting Malfoy that little bit. "Didnt your daddy teach his pureblood prince to lie a little better than that? You little shit. I knew it was going to be this way, even with those feelings that you left me in the pensive. I knew it was all bullshit. But maybe when you're done being a coward we can hear the fucking truth."

"Fuck off Potter! You don't know a damn thing about me. At least I'm not the one who is always fucking passing out and having little Dark Lord episodes!" He was sitting up in bed now too, his cheeks flushed and arms waving about.

"Maybe I should have just left you there, let the dementors have your sorry exuse for a soul!"

Malfoy flew off the bed and stalked off to the showers, pulling the curtain back fiercely and yelling, "Yeah well maybe you should have, that way I wouldn't have to deal with all this shit, I could've just been a blubbering mess like your godfather."

"Don't you fucking dare talk about him that way! And don't pretend like your spoiled ass has anything to deal with!" Harry was making his way to the showers now, feeling the room groan beneath his pressure. His magic was rising now, and he wasn't sure if he cared who got hurt.

But instead of the sharp retort he had been expecting he saw Draco slumped against the tiles of the shower, his body blurred through the gauze. He seemed to be crying, but he reached up and turned the water on before Harry could hear. Even still, Harry felt his rage fall away, leaving him shaken and empty.

"Mmm shit" Draco moaned, holding up his arms in the slop that had become his robes. Harry pulled back te curtain, moving to help the little shit.

"I don't need your fucking help, Potter." All the familiar ice was back, and Harry quickly disrobed and turned on the hot water, hoping the hot steam would soothe his raw nerves.

It helped somewhat; the gentle rise of the steam focused his mind, and drew back his loose magic so that he could feel it filling him again. It was a strange kind of post-coital relief to have it under control again, and to feel the water washing over his back and running in hot rivulets all around his face. It was going across his nose, and so he was having to take great open mouthed breaths, but it was calm and focusing so he didn't change his posture.

If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine himself floating weightless in a dark, warm, pond, listening to the rain fall gently on the surface. But even as he hung in this soothing place he could not forget that Draco was now naked next to him, having managed to get his wet clothes off finally.

The hushed awkward noises of Malfoy were tantaizing, the way noises are always louder when one is nervous about making a sound. Harry kept glancing over to see the lithe shadow, and once of twice the merest flicker of something a little more private. It was clear that Malfoy was standing with his back to him, and Harry, for his part, was standing with one leg sort of propped up, to hide the languid semi that was threatening to creep its sultry heat up his spine.

Harry should have known all along that Malfoy's uncanny ability to wind him up stemmed from a severe case of unrecognized sexual tension. It was like pure sex was oozing between them, and Harry's cock was approaching full mast as he went to move his soapy hands over himself, trying to keep from imagine what it might be like to have Malfoy doing it instead.

Finally he gave up and turned the water from hot to cold, wincing as it ran goosebumps down the length of his body, but feeling relief when the length of his cock became a little calmer. He finsihed quickly and forwent the towel dry, whipping away the water with a flick of his wand. He summoned some clothes out of the little bag by his bed, and had just put on his boxer briefs and a t-shirt when he heard Malfoy utter another curse under his breath.

"Did you drop the soap Malfoy?"

"Oh, ha, ha, fuck you Potter."

_Fucking gladly, Malfoy. _"Not today ya fairy shit." despite himself Harry's cock twitched against the slack fabric.

"I forgot my damn towel, could you just hand it to me?"

Still feeling a little miffed, Harry summoned it with his wand, and charmed it to fly around the curtain, smilling when he heard the soft thunk that meant it had successfully connected with Malfoy_'_s face.

Harry was fully dressed by the time Malfoy emerged from behind the curtain, wearing only the fluffy white towel. Everything, from the sublte glisten of his pale skin, to the graceful lines of his hips and the way one hand held the towel closed, leaving a wide swath of his upper thigh quite visible; all of it made Harry wish for nothing more than to jump the proud git right there_, _devour him in the wet steamy glory of this shitty hospital bathroom. He chewed his bottom lip, and forced himself to pick up the hogwarts letter, flicking it open and pulling out the familliar parchments.

Still, all he was able to do was read the first line, before his eyes wandered again, watching the way the fabric clung tight to his perfect arse, hugging it in just the right way as he walked over to the side of his bed. Too soon, Draco had drawn the curtain and begun changing, and yet just the sound of the soft fabric brushing up against that skin set Harry's skin on fire and his imagination equally engulfed.

And he had long since given up caring why or how he had come to be so overpowered by raw sexual feelings for Malfoy, and just let them take hold, heart and soul (and cock).

_-ooo-_

Malfoy was exhausted by they time they were seated around the grimy table. He'd taken nearly an hour getting ready, checking and rechecking his appearence, determined to look his best for his first public showing in many months. On top of that he'd been swinging all morning between an unyeilding desire to fuck the shit out of Harry, and beat him to a pulp. They'd erupted into verbal sparing again when Harry pestered him about how long his poncy ass was taking to get ready.

They were sitting in silence now, Lupin having left them to falter at the door, and wince as the establishment turned to stare. Everything in his body told him just to pack up and run, fuck school, and flee the country. He would move to Siberia, and kill giants for food, anything would've been easier than this, having people stare him down like some sort of filthy rag. He was used to people looking at him like dirt, but not like they wished to vomit in it and wipe away his existence.

And then faggot prince Harry, the chosen one, had to show him up again, walking in there with his head held high. He even had the gall to order le soup de jour for the both of them. Bloody fucking french onion was his favorite, but still. Fuck him. Ugh….. Fucking.

He turned back to his soup, to escape his thoughts, and the thoughts of those around him. Granger was supposed to be here soon, and she better. Otherwise he was like to fall again into a downward sprial of depressing thoughts. It seemed lately that every thought dragged him down into a rut, and he was forced to just stew on how positively fucked his life was. The only cure was fighting with Potter.

Potter was just sitting there, passing soup through his perfect lips, so pink and tender. It was infuriating. He cast a silent warming charm on the spoonful Harry was currently bringing to his lips, watching with satisfaction as Harry jumped and dropped the spoon with a clang.

"Fucking damnit, Malfoy!" scowled Harry under his breath, reaching out to grab at Malfoy's arm. Fast as lightning, Draco had flinched away and drawn his wand.

"What the hell? You can't be touched now? What the fuck is going on?" Harry sat back in his chair, looking just as worn out and taught as Malfoy felt. Defeated. Exhasperated. Alone.

And all because of his filthy excuse for a father. Thinking about his former servile self made him want to vomit, even despite the warm caramel smell of the onion soup. He sat back down, putting his wand back in his sleeve.

"I'm going to cut my hair."

Harry nearly spluttered into his spoon a little bit, surely thinking Malfoy was off his rocker. For good this time. After blanching, Harry's face turned serious, and there was a subtle flicker of understanding that passed behind his eyes. It made Draco uncomfortable, wishing he wasn't so easy to read.

"You aren't your father, Malfoy."

Yep, a fucking open book. Here Potter, let me tell you my deepest secrets, and then you can continue to speak to me softly, with unbearable pity in those endles pools of beautiful emerald. Instead of saying this, however, he merely grunted, a non-comittal noise.

"So stop fucking with my soup, and just calm down already."

He wanted to say something, anything, just to get Potter to keep talking, if they were talking he could condense his existence to just that. An exchange of words, he didn't have to worry about anything but listening to the sound of voices droning on, however pointlessly.

"I might also take up knitting." He was challenging Harry now. This statement was more obscure.

"There are better ways of taking your mind of things." Harry didn't even hesitate.

"Fuck you Potter."

"You keep saying that."

"Saying what?" that was Hermione, she was here now, thank Merlin. Brushing the dust off her robes. They looked nice, not cheap. No. It was Weasely that always wore the cheap ones, not her. But they were more stylish, or something. Maybe she was just growing into her body. He should probably say something, instead of just staring deadpan down at his soup.

"Your robes look nice Hermione, are they new?"

They both looked startled. Was it really so rare for him to compliment?

"Don't worry about him Hermione, he's been acting like a prick all day."

"Harry! How do you expect to get along, acting like that?"

"That's what I'd bloody like to know!"

"Harry!"

"I really did mean it you know, Granger. They look nice."

She smiled, holding her hands on her hips and scowling as she turned back to Harry. Good, there were three of them now, he didn't have to try as hard. And then he remembered that he had something to ask Granger, and groaned internally. He had to be nice to her, and that was harder than being his natural cranky self.

"Granger…?"

She had slid into the seat across from them at the worn old bench, and turned back from surveying the still listening crowd at Draco's muffled word.

"Yes, Draco?"

Harry was looking at him too, but Draco was just so tired. It was no good. He wasn't going to be able to do it. Verbalizing his compliment to her, that had been his limit for today. He could only handle so much positive communication.

Harry elbowed him. He felt the sharp bone in his side like white hot metal, and he yelped, grabbing at his side and pulling his wand on Harry yet again.

Both of them were looking at him with piercing eyes, an affectation no doubt that they both got from spending so much time with Dumbledore. He had to play it off.

"I've got a bruise there, from my fall…" He was too tired to even lie properly. It was going to be a very long day.

"When did you fall?" Harry's piercing gaze was suspicious, he knew that Malfoy was lying and now he was trying to expose it for Hermione aswell.

"On the roof, you know." He made to take another spoonful of soup, noting the tremulous state of his hands. It was dark and rich smelling, and he wished for a moment that his life could be as simple as being an inanimate object. But then Harry was telling Hermione that he'd seen Draco, and didn't have a bruise on his side. Any other day he would've made some remark about Harry watching him naked, to further ensure that their kiss lead to anything. To end it surely. But he couldn't fight with Harry properly while Hermione was around.

"Draco, you were going to ask me something?"

Malfoy looked around suspiciously, hoping she would realize that they were in public, and assume he had changed his mind, and would tell her later. No such luck. She said she'd cast muffalto, what ever that was.

He sighed out heavily, and Harry rolled his eyes. "I wanted to ask - you see, Harry in all his brilliance, has locked me into teaching him the Wolfsbane potion so that he could pay for the ingredients."

"And you want me to help because you don't want to be alone with him?" She smiled sarcastically at them, holding her mug up to hide it just a little as she watched them both turn away and blush.

She let them suffer for a bit, before saying. "Well no, I won't do it."

"Hermione!" moaned Harry, reaching across the table to take her hand.

She lifted her nose at him and laughed. "Fine. But only because I'm head girl, and you would need to get my permisson to brew such a dangerous potion anyway."

"Blimey, Hermione, you didn't tell me you made head girl! Congratulations!"

She smiled for a merest moment, before it seemed, she remembered something.

"Harry," she began, her tone motherly, "You mean to tell me that you haven't read your letter yet? You should've already known."

"What do you mean? And no I haven't read it yet, I've been... distracted." he finished lamely, and looked down into his soup, stirring it listlesly. Even Malfoy had been able to read his, while they took the Underground, if only to center himself on the extrememly ridiculous contraption. It was stupid really, he and Harry should've been perfectly fine to apparate. Ridiculous.

Malfoy had lost himself in thought, and only realized that Hermione was now watching intently has Harry read his letter.

"….and it is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to serve, along with Miss Hermione Granger, as head boy and girl for the upcoming year."

Harry finished and put the letter down, looking an odd combination of exciement and incredulity. "Shit, Ron's going to be pissed."

Hermione was biting her bottom lip, "Well congratulations anyway, I'm sure he'll get over it. Always does." She reached across and patted his hand. But all of them knew this was going to be trouble. Even Draco, who had only watched Weasely's pouts from an outsider's perspective.

Harry was reading the rest of his letter, having moved onto the pale blue insert embossed with the ministry seal.

"What's this then?" and he began to read aloud. " In accordance with the Ministry of Magic's strict proactive stance on the defense of its citizenry from the dark arts, it has been established, under article 26 of the decree for the protection of underage wizards, that all students returning to any school of witchcraft and wizardry under the jurisdiction of the aformentioned decree (see article 87, section 4 for listing), shall be enrolled in a compulsory pre-term learning enrichment programme. This is to begin promtly on the morning of August the 9th, and continue to the start of term. All materials will be provided, should they exceed the requested materials from the school. More information concerning the decree can be solicited at the main office of the departement for underage wizardry."

Harry finished reading, and Malfoy turned to Hermione aswell, hoping for her tack on this rude shortening of the summer.

"Well, obviously they are worried. Properly. I suppose its mostly just publicity, so that they can point to the areas that they have prepared for his attack. I had Arthur bring me back a copy of the decree -"

"Naturally." Harry smiled. She huffed and crossed her arms, looking most afronted, but continued none the less.

"It _says_," she continued spitefully, "that the specifics of the programme are to be handled and staffed mostly by the school, so I expect it should be useful anyway. And they aren't allowed to give us homework, so I expect it will be mostly practical learning. Your favorite."

She let the little dig sink in and rose from the table, "We'd best be going, it was raining when I left, and I'm sure this place will get crazy once it hits here."

And now it was time to move, and Draco's whole body was stubbornly disliking the whole idea.

"Draco we aren't leaving your scrawny ass to sit here while we go do all the hard work."

"Is shopping that hard for you Potter? Developing a poor lower class inferiority complex?" He was still sitting, and they were hovering ont he verge of walking away.

"Need I remind you that I currently have more money than you will ever again see in your life?"

Draco thought he must really be winding Harry up, for him to actually admit to having money; Harry thought Draco must truly be feeling like shit if he wasn't reacting to being called poor.

Harry made a move to lift Draco by the arms, with intention on his face, as opposed to a instinctual movement. Draco was up in an instant again, his spine prickling with fear of being touched.

The little burst of adrenaline was enough to wake him up enough to make it out the back door. He ignored as best he could the little wispers that sprang up about the three of them, and rode the wave of energy as long as it would take him. Waiting for the stupid brick wall to disapear, he shuffled back and forth on his feat. If he stopped moving he would die. At least it wasnt hot out.

"It's amazing isn't it? No matter how many times I see it, this little bit of magic always brings me back to my first day as a wizard."

Hermione hummed in agreement as they stepped across the threshold, feeling the first little bits of rain. Draco thought about how it must be, to be so amazed by the mere existence of magic. He'd always known he was a wizard, and though he was on occasion humbled by the beauty of magic, he wondered how much more intense it must be. To have never known it, and to be thrust knee deep in it.

Their first stop was the Apothecary, rushing in just as it began to rain in ernest. They also managed to avoid the stares of any of the various gaggles of witches and wizards, who were running about with their eyes to the ground.

They stumbled into the quiet stuffy store, feeling the noiselessness suck up around them after all the comotion of outside. The grubby old wizard who managed the store looked up at them, one gloved hand still clutching a handful of slimy eggs that he had been scooping out of the bottom of a barrel.

He adjusted his glasses with his relatively clean hand, and made a grimace as Malfoy came into view. "You answer me this boy, and I'll decide if I should throw you out. Where is your father, and why aren't you off being part of the next crop of that dung heap brood?"

Malfoy had known the old wizard all his life, even spent a few days helping him restock some of the rarer items that he'd used the Malfoy name to procure. Had his cutting tone not sent daggers into Malfoy's chest, he might have been indignant. He felt his eyes grow red around the edges, and fought to bite back tears. He had not expected such hostility, sure some scathing looks perhaps, but it's not as if anyone really knew how much darkness his family had wrought.

"You won't be throwing him out of this shop." Harry had no justification, but the certainty in his voice was enough. Malfoy was positive Harry could probably convince him to do anything, if he kept speaking that way.

The shopkeep, whose name Malfoy no longer cared about trying to remember, seemed to wise up at the realization that he was in the presence of the precious Potter. His mouth got all puckered, like he was sucking on his tongue, and his eyes seemed to buldge in his thick round glasses as he considered the situation.

He bent back down into the barrel, as if trying to pretend they had never walked in. They waited awkwardly in the dank, acidic smell of the place. Listening to the rain outside and silently discussing their next move with furituve looks and nods.

Hermione got tired of their waffling, and moved past them swiftly, levitating a few jars as she passed the shelves and went to collect things from the giant vats at the back of the store. "I'll get the standard stuff, for all three of us. You two focus on the… uh, lupine arrangement."

Malfoy thanked her for her tact, it would not do to have the world at large thinking he was a werewolf, which he was sure would be the end result of someone hearing wolfsbane and seeing him in a 10 meter radius.

Fortunately for them, the aconite flowers grew wilde on the slopes leading down to Hagrid's hut, so they wouldn't need to buy the most conspicuous elements. He set Harry the easiest task, selecting the choicest dried sage leaves, and sorting through a box of salamander scales for the ones with the darkest red flakes.

It took him the longest to sort through the dragon ginger because he didnt want to risk another outburst from Jiggers (he'd remembered the name) if he went to ask for the hide gloves. So instead he had to levitate each one individually to check for quality.

So engrossed was he in inspecting the flow of the root strands, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Harry and Hermione appeared behind him.

"I'll get the meteorite powder then? Probably best if I do it, how many ounces?" Hermione was right, out of the lot of them she was probably the least abrasive, and most likely to succed in getting the only thing pre-packaged in the enitre store, the only thing behind the counter.

Harry and Draco both left the store, Harry dropping a few galleons by the register. Jiggers did not look up as the bell chimed them out.

Potter led them into an alley, and Draco absently followed him, only to look up and find that it was very dark, they were very close, and Potter had his wand drawn. A heady wave of panic swelled up within him.

But the look on his face was not dark, but concerned. "We're going to have to change your appearence. And you're going to be Hermione's cousin."

"And just how do you plan on doing that?" Somehow the concentration he put into picking through ingredients had restored him to a somewhat… normal … state of mind. And it felt strange and foreign, but lighter and less like spending every waking hour swimming at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake.

"Tonks taught me a spell as to change my hair color, and I reckon it will do the same for your eyes if just change the pilo bit to occulus."

"Some how, practicing unknown magic, only days after becomming officially legal, in the middle of a dark alley, because people suspect me of being a death eater. Somehow that doesn't sound like a good idea." He was drawling now, hoping that maybe if he sounded enough like Snape, Potter would leave him alone to be dramatic about people accosting him on the street.

Because he realized in the shop, that if he was moping about being a public enemy, he wouldn't have to think about the way Harry looked as he sucked his bottom lip and considered Draco in the dark light. It sent chills up his spine in the most pleasant way possible, but it wasn't good. Not in the long run. Not when they could never touch each other properly.

They were so close now, he was sure Harry had been creeping them together. Their was a hungry look in Harry's eyes, a sultry darkness that welled up inside Draco aswell. But not matter that he wanted it, that Harry seemed to want it, nothing could happen. And he should probably tell this to Harry, but he just couldn't.

If he said it outloud. It was real. Nothing that terrible should be real. So he was just going to ignore it until he wasn't real, until he didn't exist. Which he was sure would be sometime this year. Positive.

Harry's lip quivered. Fucker.

"Will you at least let me make your hair darker, its probably your most notable trait, aside from the eyes. And I know this one works."

Harry Potter. Thought. His. Eyes. Were. Notable.

Draco's lips formed into a hard line as he supressed the desire to dwell on that. "Fine."

Harry sucked in a deep breath and raised his wand to Malfoy's head. "If this doesn't change back I'll kill you."

"Pilofuscus Nova Imperminentia" Harry muttered it softly, and Malfoy felt the roots of his hair tingle in a wave starting at the base of his skull. And then it was done, and when he fingered a lock of his hair it was a dark tawny color.

"I don't like it. And you need to shave Malfoy."

"Well, then be glad its not permanent. And fuck off, I don't need to shave as much when it's blond."

But Harry wasn't looking for a fight, he was staring off into the distance, with a blush on his face. And Draco had no idea why, for the life of him.

"You should probably put on your reading glasses too, people don't know you have them."

Like someone came down with a heavy cleaver on his nerves, Malfoy stared back at him, open mouthed. No one. No one. No one knew he had reading glasses.

"You squint at things when you read. And I see you reaching at your breast pocket when we're in public. But then you just pretend to be adjusting your robes. I assume that's where you keep them."

Draco reached into his pocket and roughly pulled out the slight framed reading glassed, glaring at Harry the enitre time. "Have you ever considered not being fucking creepy and stalking me everywhere?"

Harry looked back with a different, non-sultry feircness in his eyes, but before it could come to fruition Hermione was at the alley entrance.

"Harry have you seen Draco? I want to ask him if this is enough-" Her words died on her open lips. She studied him for a moment, and then said, "Well, that works well enough. If I hadn't been blinded by your blond hair for seven years I wouldn't recognize you for a bit."

"Where too next? I'd like to get out of this bloody rain if at all posible."

"Before you melt into a sweet pile of sugar?" asked Harry, his tone on the unreadbly fine line between cheek and sarcasm.

Draco decided not to reply as they walked along towards Flourish and Blotts, sneaking glances at himself in the windows to check out his appearence. It was startling, he still looked handsome, like some sort of dapper journalist, with his slight stubble and modern styled glasses. All he needed was a camera to complete to stereotype. He ruffled his wet hair, and as he looked between himself and Harry, it seemed more likely that they were cousins, rather than with Hermione.

Somehow, with the just the simple change of color, people seemed to ignore him completely, due no doubt to his mere presence being overshadowed by the pure glory of the chosen bint. He watched Hermione as people grovelled over Harry, shaking his hand and waving at him excitedly. She never seemed sour or depressed about being completely ignored, rather she smiled and watched as Harry squirmed under the attention.

They managed to make it all the way to Gringotts before the roots of Malfoy's hair began to turn blond again. It'd taken them almost three hours to get through flourish and blots, what with everyone and their grandmother out to buy books before the unexpectedly early start of term. And on top of that Harry had run off somewhere and Hermione only managed to find him because she was, as usual, looking for some new reads in the historical section.

He looked startled, like madame Pince had just found him in the restricted section (even though now as head boy he was allowed in there). And it was this that Draco pondered as they paid for their copious amounts of school books, promising to pay Harry back as soon as he turned 20 and the estate rolled over from his father to him.

"Fucking Goblins. Because my father is a wanted criminal, they have to wait three damn years to transfer the money to me. All because he is at large. Like I would fund his flight from the law."

"Well Goblins are mistrustful at the best of times. Personally I agree with the policy, not all of the Death Eaters have such strong willed children. Don't worry about Harry paying for anything, he could buy this whole street and still take a bath in the galleons in his vault."

"You're exagerating Hermione, dont get any lofty ideas, im paying for this potion, your school supplies, and that's it." His mouth was set in a firm line, and he was determinadely looking anywhere but Draco.

"Well, anyway, its probably a good thing your hair is going back to normal, Gringotts has heavy security about appearence charms. I once saw a woman gain about three hundred pounds in an instant when she tried to get in one of the railcarts." She held up her hand to stiffle her giggle, and wiped the rain out of her face.

It was positively dismal out, and had he not charmed his robes, Draco was sure he would have been soaked to the bone. It came down in thick heavy sheets, that they could watch travel up and down the cobblestone street.

Here and there a grimy looking wizard or witch, clustered at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, would still be trying to pawn their wares, despite the utter lack of customers. Just as they enetered the large dark doors of the white marble building, a clap of thunder rent the air, and despite the thick walls, they could hear it all the same.

The sound of the storm now in full tilt outside was only dampened as they passed further and further into the deep caverns below the street. Still feeling a bit sick, both Harry and Draco looked rather displeased at the journey. Hermione, Draco noted, was uncharacteristically gleeful as the rode up and down the winding rails.

"I am pleased to inform you, Mister Potter," said the drawling, snape-like tone of the goblin, "that we have sucessfuly relocated the Black family fortune to the Potter vault."

"Why did you do that?" he hadn't meant the question to sound acusatory, but it came out anyway, and the goblin scowled.

"As per the request of Dumbledore, the request that you athorized. I should think it obvious, given that there are still other, less desirable decendents of the Black out there… in the world." the goblin looked around, spookily, as if he expected Bellatrix to come leaping out of the darkness at him. Draco, by the way he looked around, seemed to be imagining that aswell, if somewhat lethargically.

Harry tried to think of someway to repair the damage done by his accidental insult, but everything sounded ingenuine. He vowed then, to make sure he looked as awed as possible when they arrived.

And he needn't have tried to feign it, as became jaw droppingly obvious when the goblin slid a clawlike finger down the door to reveal an otherworldly collection of treasure.

The three of them merely stood and gaped at the door, unsure where too look; what was more amazing? The rooms full of decadent dark wooded furniture, or the mountainous piles of gold, gleaming warm and rich over every possible surface.

"Shit, fucking, damn, Potter. We are getting dress robes. Maybe even some for that doiley old git Ron."

They all laughed at that, the memory of Ron's mauve colored catastrophy vivid in their minds. Harry and Draco caught each other's eyes, and much the same as that first night, looked away with blush creeping on their cheeks.

Back to square one. Only the full force of Draco's beauty was painfully obvious now, not just a flickering vision.

The goblin hovered by the door, with an almost pained look on his face, flinching at their mirth. A minute ago, Harry would have sympathized with him, but he felt lighter now. Not cured of his burden, but momentarily relieved of its omnipresence in his mind.

So they lost themselves wandering amongst Harry's inheritance, money being the only thing that seemed to go as planned in Harry's dismal life. It was a fortunate fortune. If he'd been a destitute savior, it would be only that much harder to keep hope alive.

The goblin was pacing now, growing more impatient as they dallyed, and eventually they were forced from the inspection of a particularly ancient grimoire by his grumblings. Harry handed his money bag to Malfoy, giving him tacit consent to take as much as they needed. Which, by Malfoy's standards, was above and beyond what Harry thought was 'needed'.

As they left the quite mosoleum of a place, Draco posed a question to Hermione. "Speaking of that… befreckled friend of yours, why didn't he come along to go shopping with his dearest?"

"Well I should think that would be obvious," sort of rounding on the pair of them with a motherly tone that she always took when something was 'obvious'. This time though, Harry agreed with Hermione. It was rather obvious. "what with Harry being made head boy, and you being, well… you know, you. I daresay he will be moping at least until the feast."

"Really? And I thought _I _was the stubborn git."

"Well you are." Harry said cheekily, glancing sidelong at Mafloy to find him with a dazzling smile on his face. As they walked, Harry had to stop himself from needling Malfoy about his inconsistency, and vowed not to ruin what little happiness they seemed to have garnered between the three of them. He would worry about Malfoy's continuous shift of desire later. He pushed it to the edge of his mind, willing it to remain there in the dark space, preserved for some lonelier moment. Of which their were sure to be many.

And Harry sped up a bit, using the physical momentum of his body to convince his subconcious to shut the hell up. It would not do to slip under right now, and he tried to summon what was left of the stoic self he had endured during his three weeks of dark whimsy.

They passed in and out of Madame Malkin's in a dream, or so it was to Harry. He spent the majority of the time lost in watching Draco being fitted for his robes. He watched the old witch prod and pull at the fabric, pressing it tight against the graceful lines of Malfoy's body. He watched with envy, wishing it could be his hands, only they wouldn't jab so sharply, no, they would cup those elegant forms, and run soothing fingers across the tantalizing and hidden expanse of alabaster skin.

And Harry felt himself inwardly groan and a tightness unfurl in the deepest parts of himself, unleashing a heavy warmth. He gulped, hoping Hermione was too busy admiring the fabric that was being doted upon her. She was looking at him, calculating as usual. He could hear the gentle thrum of her mind, whirring in gentle arcs like the sound of the fan that also beat around and around in the sultry swealtering air.

But really, Harry was just aroused in that overwhelming primal way, and was very much glad that he had already been measured. Or they would have had something unexpected to take a ruler too, he thought in half amusement, half unbearable need. Even the sound of the rain outside was low, distant, grinding and sensual.

And so a tropic lassitude swept over him until they stepped again into flurry of wet and wind. Hermione and Draco were deep in conversation over the undetectable expansion charm that she'd placed on her beaded bag. Draco was marveling at how well all their day's purchases fit into the well organized space.

"And you've got books in their too? You are true to yourself, that's for damn sure."

Hermione scoffed at his sarcasm, pulling a feigned afrontted air, but Harry was not paying attention. At the word book, he'd remembered something that came rushing back to him, echoing along with the way Malfoy had said "book", in that dramatic, head throbbing way. And I wasn't really so dramatic, but his mind was still laboring under the intense weight of his arousal. So everything was passionate. Even the simple reccolection of a task.

"I-um. I forgot to get something at the owl emporium, I'll meet you guys back at the Leaky Couldron in a bit." He turned quickly before they had the chance to say anything. He tried his best not to walk to hurriedly, but gave up as soon as he realized that the owl emporium was in fact in the opposite direction. Fuck it, he was just going to go anyway.

He was soone striding past the grimy old fuckwads that were selling contraband at the entrance to Knockturn Alley. He was on a mission, only so much time before Hermione convinced Draco to come snooping after him. And he had to find out before then. He would be in and out swiftly, after interrogating the man.

He blew into Borgin & Burkes, windswept, soaking, and dark. This was Harry Potter on a mission. Walking up to the counter, he assumed his most intimidating air, feeling a little bit of his magic slip out from within, permeating the dank grimy space with his sheer presence. The old, drawn out husk of man looked up imediately, Harry's presence disturbing the settled muck and silt of the place.

"I have nothing for you here, boy." The words were spat through a near toothless mouth, and Harry felt the slightest urge to take out the rest of them.

"I'm looking for a book. And if you value anything in this terrible excuse for a shop, you will provide to the best of your paltry ability." He let the magic swell behind his eyes, and leered across the darkness at the man. The last time he had been in this shop, his body was run through with fear and trepidation. But now, he came into this place a full wizard, and something feirce running through his veins. A confidence brought about by a desperation he felt only in the deepest caverns of his soul.

"You will hand over anything in your collection of books concerning pureblood rituals."

"You will be paying me for them."

"You will be giving me a discount on them."

The man seemed to consider him for a moment, his face turning in on itself in a grotesque scowl that drew up his great jowly cheeks and brought down his eyebrows with a sickening slack puddly mishapen drooping of skin. Then, startled by a slight crackle of Harry's magical aura, his skin flew back and he darted off to the back of the store.

Harry, for his part, had expected more of a fight out of the shopkeep, and he felt the aprehensive outburst of magic ebb and calm slightly. He was still bristling, but no longer angry.

The man returned carrying only three books, and was wearing an expression even more sour than the one he'd run off with. A feat that Harry scarcely believed possible.

"This will be them." he said gruffly. "Five bloody galleons and you get out of my store."

Harry withdrew ten galleons from his pocket and deposited them on the counter. "You never even fucking owned these, understand?"

The man simply swept them from the dark, grime polished, surface, and withdrew to the shadows of his haunt, his beady black eyes fixated on Harry in his withering slow retreat into darkness.

Harry disapparated with the loudest bang he could manage, blasting apart one of the glass cabinets to his right. The hunched over wizard gave a little unvoluntary gasp, and then spat and clawed at his scabbed skin in his shame.

A/N: Whale penis surprise, Cum like a shotgun. Fat Anal Gaping, Lesbian Beefin' Nibbles. Feel good about yourself.

Also, yeah I changed the title, don't worry your little hearts about it.


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